Kate hated small talk. She was the kind of woman who liked the idea of parties, but hated the effort of them. Sean, however, was exactly the opposite. He liked the idea of parties, but understood that small talk was a job to be done—often pleasant, sometimes slow and slogging, like a long march across a snow-covered field in the middle of a blizzard. Together, they made a well-matched pair.
"I might have to drink a little too much to get through it," Kate told Sean as they were getting ready in the bathroom.
"Well," Sean said, "don't drink so much that I can't have celebrate with my bride-to-be on my own when the party's done." He planted a kiss on the back of her neck that made her shiver and tingle.
"Don't worry," Kate said, leaning in to the mirror to apply her bright red lipstick."
"I like that shade," Sean said.
"I know you do. It's your favorite—whorehouse red."
"Baby, those are lips that I'd read anytime."
Kate mouthed to the mirror, looking into Sean's eyes through their reflections, "Fuck me."
"Be careful what you wish for," Sean said, cupping her breasts from behind.
Kate moaned, enjoying the feel of his strong hands caressing her large breasts. She was well-endowed, 36D, and was sometimes shy about showing her ample cleavage. It was summer time, and tonight she had put on a fairly simple red bra-top, its spaghetti straps and low-cut neck revealing her temping décolletage and the tops of her succulent, soft globes.
"You know I love my wife's big tits," Sean whispered saucily into her ear.
"Mmmm . . . I'm not your wife yet, baby."
"Soon enough."
"And are you still going to want to fuck your wife? Is it going to be as hot as just fucking your fiancée?"
"Better."
"I hope you still suck on my nipples when we're married."
"You know I will. Mmmm," Sean moaned, gently rolling her nipples through the synthetic fabric of her red top. "You know what would be hot? If we just popped these out in the middle of the party, showed everyone what I would be getting for the rest of my life—and that they would never see again."
Exposing Kate in public was a big fantasy for them. Although they had never done it, they had talked about it a lot, usually while Sean was fucking Kate missionary, and just before Sean would come inside his lovely fiancée.
"Wouldn't you get jealous if all those guys—all your friends—saw my big tits?"
"Maybe. And maybe you'd just lose control if you saw all their dicks getting hard in their pants from looking at your big tits."
"Maybe," Kate cooed, getting into it. "But if I did, then I guess you'd just be marrying a slut, wouldn't you be?"
"Maybe," Sean said, leaning down, around her body and taking a nipple into his mouth.
Kate enjoyed the warmth and wetness of Sean's mouth. Her nipples—both—hardened even further. She felt her pussy grow wetter—that familiar sensation she had know since 12 of her body taking matters into her own hands. She loved the slight loss of control her arousal always implied; how her body would suddenly flip these invisible switches, diverting her conscious thoughts to a track of pure wantonness. "Mmmm, she though, "I should let Sean eat me right now, have a nice little come just before the party."
Her good-girl self interrupted—"No! And if you keep this up, you'll be late for your own party!"
"So what," the bad-girl Kate chimed in, "At least I'll arrive with a sexy rosy glow!"
But the good-girl side won out; Kate regained control of her growing clit and dampening cleft. "Wait—wait," she said, "we're going to be late," and pulled her nipple away from her greedily nursing fiancé.
"We'll finish this later," he promised her.
"We better," she said with a sly smile.
The party was being given for them by one of Kate's college friends. She and her husband had a nice home just outside Washington in a comfortable suburb called Chevy Chase. Five bedrooms, backyard, garage—classic suburban living. The party began at eight, and when Kate and Sean arrived, there were already a good number of people there, mostly local friends, work friends, and friends from school who were in the area. They were all either late twenties or early twenties; some with spouses in tow, some with significant others, some still single. The buzz was light and easy; it was late July and the weather was warm but not sticky. The air was fresh; it was the kind of summer's night where one believed one could live forever in happiness and youth, shinning like the stars and constellations above.
Helping out that buzz was a considerable amount of alcohol and a few joints of marijuana, slowly making their way around the party.
Toasts to the happy couple lead to shots. The shots lead to drinking games, and the drinking games lead to turning the music up and dancing.
When yuppies dance, it is important that they either be inebriated or in a state of at least slight inebriation. This is not for all yuppies, for women dancing is always a sight of beauty and erotic delight. But dancing for yuppies is always best when no one is paying much attention, and everyone is feeling light and groovy.
"Congratulations, Sean," said Kate's work friend Bridget. Bridget had the office next to Kate and a fresh divorce. She was wearing a tight black bodysuit, showing off the modest curves of her chest, and a flirty, white pleated skirt. She walked over to the couple on her three-inch sandals, teetered close enough to Sean that she almost lost her balance and had to put her hand on her arm to steady herself. She kept it there, holding onto his firm bicep while she planted a kiss—not on his cheek, but directly on his lips, long and hard enough that her lipstick—pixie pink—came off on Sean.
"Thanks," Sean said, not noticing that Kate was watching from across the room.
"You guys are such a great pair," Bridget cooed. Sean could smell the alcohol on her breath. There had been a heated game of Flip-Cup earlier, and Bridget's team had lost—big time.
"Thanks."
"I know you're going to be so happy together."
"Thanks," Sean said, wholly laconic at that moment but sensing her, the way male animals in the wild sense female animals in the wild.
Bridget paused there, her eyes waiting for—Sean knew exactly what, and realized that Bridget was have drunk just enough for her inhibitions to be lowered to the point that she was approach him so suddenly, in this backyard, at his own engagement party.
Sean was buzzed just enough that he didn't know what to say, but realized, as if it had happened in a distant place, that his hand was resting casually on his hip.
After the silence continued on, awkwardly, Bridget broke it:
"Well, give me a hug. Congratulations." She embraced him and he could feel her pressing her breasts against his chest and the electric promise of her feminity. He hugged her back, wishing he knew what to do in these moments. She walked away and he saw Kate sitting on a wicker couch on the back porch. She was in a group of seven or eight, and they were all laughing very animatedly. The couch was only really made for two, but Kate was sandwiched in between two of Sean's friends from law school—Dave and Mike. Dave was slightly older, unmarried, but with a serious girlfriend back in New York where he lived. Mike was Sean's age and chronically single.
Sean went inside to use the bathroom. When he came out, Kate was there on the couch, still between Dave and Mike. The group of eight was still there, telling the dirtiest jokes they knew and laughing uproariously. As Sean got there, perching himself on the arm of a wicker chair that his co-worker Molly was sitting in (or, to be precise, the chair which Molly's husband Brian was sitting in; Molly was sitting on his lap).
Brian was just finishing telling a joke, delivering the punchline:
"I'll just hold her buy her ears until she gets the hang of it,"
