Prologue
I met Sam for the first time on a Saturday night at the holiday party of a work colleague. Much to everyone's surprise, by Sunday brunch he had seen me naked, licked my taste off his fingers, and brought me to orgasm not once, but three times. Before Monday night was over, I had milked dry his veiny, pale mushroom tip, posed for the type of pictures one week earlier I would have emphatically declared degraded the women in them and the men who pleasured themselves to the images, and had my first mixed-sex threesome. I was looking forward to Tuesday.
Saturday
Few things jumpstart my day like French kissing Jasmine's silky slit while she fingerbangs me with the energy and tempo of a punk rock drummer. She's dexterous, skilled beyond her nineteen years, and spent the last six months learning what I like, attentively sensing my response to how she touched, kissed, licked, and rubbed every inch of my body. I like her taste. It reminds me of how the city smells after a hard rain; earthy, natural, with a hint of the peach body scrub she favors.
This morning, probably due to my lackluster performance the prior evening after too many tequila shots, she is definitely focusing on her own pleasure as much as her own. I'm using my tongue sparingly; it isn't needed. Her hips grind hard down on my face. My chin, nose, and both cheeks are covered in her wetness, a testament to her skill at pleasing herself, too. I could spend the rest of my life with this Desi beauty, but I know we're just passing time until the marriage arranged for her when she graduates university. I wonder if I would be happy as a unicorn?
I close my eyes as I feel the tidal gush of her release cover the rest of my face, running down my cheeks into my ears, and soaking my hair and the sheets underneath us. Her hips stop grinding and fall off to one side. She extends her naked body along mine, breasts pressing into my hips. Her finger tempo and technique change. Soft kisses caress my labia, and her tongue makes exploratory strokes around my clitoris. With her other hand, she strokes my pubic hair as if she's running her fingers over my scalp. It works, and I'm soon burying my face into her caramel thighs, grasping her ass, and pulling her tight so I don't wake the neighbors with my O-scream.
Early morning sun is reflecting off the building next to ours sending a tight beam through the one slit where a stray hand grasped at, and broke, the venetian blinds the night I had my first taste of Jasmine up against the wall. I like the way it highlights her black hair. It almost looks blue.
"I have a party to attend tonight," I said when I finally regained my breath. "Wanna come and give me a reason to leave early? You can wear that short red dress we both like you in."
"Can't," she said, pivoting her hips to rest her head on my breasts, staring up at the ceiling. Subconsciously, I began stroking her face. "I have that paper due on Monday. Last night was all I could give you this weekend, and I wanted to make sure I gave it to you."
I bent my right leg and felt her hand immediately begin stroking underneath it.
"Don't want to take a break for a few hours?" I asked with as much flirtation as I could find at nine in the morning.
"If I spend an hour with you, I'll want the whole night, and this paper is half my grade," she replied. I heard the disappointment in her voice.
"I'm free Monday afternoon," she said, optimistically. "I have two finals in the morning and then nothing the rest of the day. I can meet you for lunch and whatever may come after that."
"My weeks are hard to schedule," I reminded her. "Once my day starts, I don't know how it's going to end."
"I'm sure those computers can operate without you," she said. She slowly slid her hand from where my leg became cheek to the sweet spot where her fingers could spider-walk their way inside.
"I'm not sure I can go another round," I managed to exhale as my head involuntarily tilted back and my eyes closed.
"I'll have to do the work for both of us," she said, repositioning herself to suckle my nipple while her hand continued with the wonderful work it had begun. "Again."
Jasmine left around noon, when I finally convinced her she'd coaxed every possible orgasm from my tired body and I had nothing left to give her. I had nine hours to kill until I'd be expected at Kathy's party. She hosted an office Christmas gathering every year, even though she didn't celebrate the holiday herself. She liked the idea of giving back to her friends, and decided years ago Christmas was the best time to do that.
As the owner of Ninja Graphx, Kathy was a cult hero among nerds. She checked every box imaginable; Asian, physical proportions any anime fan would appreciate, the graphic designer for three of the top ten multiplayer games for the last five years, and a penchant for seducing beautiful women. I was lucky to call her both boss and friend. If I am being honest, I also consider her my hero.
I made it my mission to never disappoint Kathy. I worked whatever hours were needed to meet her aggressive deadlines. We all did; she inspired that kind of devotion with subtle actions like the annual holiday party, and preventing anyone from working from five in the evening on Friday until seven in the morning on Monday by disabling our badges and dropping access to the network during that timeframe. When you know you can't work weekends, your focus during the workweek is that much higher.
I spent the afternoon reading the book Jasmine gifted me for "pre-Christmas", the term she used when I asked why she was giving me a gift two weeks before Christmas. It was a story of forbidden love between a wealthy Indian princess and one of her handmaidens. She said it was made into one of the most controversial movies in India. The female protagonist reminded me a lot of Jasmine, and I think that was the intent.
At six-thirty, I decided it was time to prepare for the evening. Kathy threw semi-formal events and all the women were expected to wear skirts and the men to wear a jacket and tie. It was the one time a year I wore the one skirt I own. I hated how I looked in it, despite Kathy insisting to the contrary.
Tonight's party we were going to meet a new photographer Kathy hired and could not stop raving about. Video games were starting to merge drawn art with real-world images and having someone with a keen eye made that process easier. My project was the first he would join, working with me on the background images of the dystopian cityscape the game required. Kathy made it clear that I should spend much of the evening getting to know him better so we could hasten the collaborative process.
Kathy always rented the Glass House in Chelsea for her Christmas party. She loved the views and the all-white décor felt very much like Christmas. It was posh, modern, and rebellious, all at the same time, just like her. My uber dropped me at the door as my apple watch blinked nine-thirty.
Most of the forty-person office team were already well into their second drinks, some were even dancing with their plus-ones, when I ventured up to the bar and ordered a gin with a splash of ginger beer. I used to call it a "gin gin", until my bartender friends told me it has a name: foghorn. I tipped the cute blonde who made it for me, hoping the amount was large enough she'd remember me and maybe want to talk later since Jasmine wouldn't be coming over.
"You always look great in that dress," Kathy said, appearing from the crowd the second I turned away from the bar and began taking my first sip. She must have been watching for my arrival.
"I'm glad you like it," I said, "It's the only one I own."
"If I had one that made me look that good, I would only own one, too," Kathy replied. She leaned in for a hug and a kiss on both cheeks and said: "Merry Christmas."
That's when I noticed the gentleman standing next to her. He was short, not much taller than Kathy was in her heels.
"Andi, this is Sam, our new photographer," Kathy said, making the introduction I knew was expected. "Andi is our top background artist. I think it is important the two of you establish a quick rapport if we're going to get the product released in time for Valentine's Day."
"Pleasure to meet ya," Sam said, his Scottish brogue strong.
Sam extended his hand, and I shook it. His grip was strong yet gentle. He was a thin, wiry man, like a featherweight boxer. His smile felt forced, but the curiosity in his green eyes was real. I felt the weight of examination in his gaze. While his body spoke of a fighter, his face did not. It was soft, clean shaven with rounded features; more pretty than manly. I could see him easily passing as a woman if he donned a dress and feathered his shoulder length red hair. He personified the word 'androgenous'.
"Kathy thinks very highly of you," I offered, releasing his hand. "I look forward to our collaborations."
"Great!" Kathy said, placing a hand on each of our shoulders and bending her knees as she said it. "I will leave you two to get acquainted and go see if I can't find my date for the evening. She's a shy little thing. Fresh off the boat, as they say. Beautiful as a sunrise. Enjoy the party and, if I don't see you later tonight, I'll see you both on Monday!"
Kathy disappeared into the throng leaving me with Sam.
"Have you been in New York long?" I asked. I hated small talk, but a book I read said to always start with something basic, like a question about the weather or the location.
"Flew in from LA yesterday," Sam replied. "Spent a few years working for a small marketing firm that specialized in home goods - lamps, couches, tablecloths, and the like. I spent a lot of time trying to make spoons appealing. I hated it."
"Your accent tells me you aren't originally from LA," I said, hoping for a more interesting topic.
"Scotland," he replied. He offered nothing further.
"How does the weather here compare to Scotland?" I went back to the recommendations from the book. This conversation wasn't going anywhere.
"Weather?" His green eyes bore into me with that same curiosity from before. "Andi, we don't need to talk about the weather. I hate small talk. I should also mention, I'm pretty direct."
No kidding.
"That's a relief," I said, hoping to defuse the surprising sense of tension I was feeling. "I'm not much for small talk, either. Shall we discuss our project?"
"Save that for Monday," he replied. "What's the protocol for this party? If we left, would Kathy twist her kit?"
"Twist her kit?" I had no idea what he meant.
"Is it okay if we leave?" He clarified.
"I think her mission for us this evening is accomplished," I said. "You can leave if you want. Easy enough to claim fatigue from travel."
"Yer comin wit me," he said, his accent stronger than before.
"That's bold of you," I replied. I had no interest in leaving with him.
"I told ya I'm direct," he said. "Donna' worry, I'm not proposing anything peculiar. A pal o' mine ha' a club near here. I said I'd visit if ever I was close. I'm close. Let's go."
"Why am I required to visit your friend's club?" I'd been to a lot of New York clubs. I'd only returned to a few. Many weren't worth the first visit.
"Yer not," he replied. "Though I sense yer the type that'll enjoy it."
"What type is that?" I felt myself growing angry at this presumptuous little man with the beautiful alabaster skin and fiery hair.
"The type that doesn't want to be at a stuffy corporate party filled with colleagues and would prefer to be surrounded by interesting people doing interesting things," he said. There was mischief in those emerald eyes, and I was up for it.
