*author's note: this piece has been co-authored with
Grey Timber
* * * * *
There's a party planned for tonight...it's been dubbed the "politically incorrect" party. The invitation bears only these instructions: "Dress inappropriately."
She has chosen her costume with great care. Crisp, white button-down shirt, khaki skirt, white knee socks, and brown Mary Janes. Her chin-length hair has been pulled neatly into a set of impossibly perky pigtails. She's wearing very little makeup - most notably the slick roll-on lip gloss she remembers from high school. She's 20, almost 21, but in this outfit she could easily pass for 15. She checks herself in the mirror, smoothes down a stray lock of hair, and heads for the party.
The door is answered by a guy she vaguely knows. He's dressed as the jizz mopper from Clerks. She gives him her coat and heads for the first floor room where her friends will be.
"You're a schoolgirl? Very cute," says a girl she doesn't recognize.
Her best guy friend emerges from his room to find her in the hallway. "No way - you aren't nearly naughty enough," he says. "You look way too innocent. It's a PI party, after all." He begins to unbutton her shirt, leaving only one button fastened, right in the middle of her chest. "Roll up your skirt."
She rolls the waistband once, bringing the skirt up about an inch. "Again," he demands, the vigilant costumer. Another roll in the waistband brings the skirt up again. "Now turn around and bend forward." She does, and he smiles in appreciation at the hint of white panties. Lipstick borrowed from a woman in the hall adds the flush of sex to her smooth cheeks, and he presses a drink into her hand, sending her upstairs to the party with satisfaction.
Conversation stops as she hits the second floor. The guys have never seen her this way, and the hints of nudity stir them to a near frenzy. She works the floor, stopping to chat with everyone she knows, a dynamic, naughty little girl confident in the attention she's receiving.
It is later. The party has moved to the third floor, darkened and noisy with music from several rooms. She finds herself surrounded by a grotesque circus of drunken revelers, including a Holocaust survivor, a dead baby, an abortion doctor, Fidel Castro, a dominatrix, and a guy who appears to be emulating Hugh Hefner.
Later still. The flush on her cheeks is now real, borne of alcohol, heat, and lust. Desire is palpable in the air, and she's becoming a more brazen tease as the night wears on.
One of her guy friends, dressed in a tuxedo jacket and a pair of black underwear, has her pressed against the wall, hands on her hips as he mock-fucks her from behind. People are watching, laughing...it's all in fun. He's already said that he's clearly dressed as a pervert. Someone tries to get his attention and he declines, saying, "In a minute...I'm busy taking this schoolgirl up the ass right now." It's a great joke, they think.
They have no idea how badly she wants that - how hot it's making her to feel strong hands on her hips, her cheek pressed against the coolness of the wall, the grinding of his cock against her ass, the slick wetness in her panties.
They can see those panties as the skirt rides up during their lewd display. They cannot, however, see what she feels - that his cock is actually hard from this little game. It's driving her insane. If only he knew...in her current state, she'd fuck him right here in this hallway, in front of all these people.
Someone finally pulls him away, laughing. She's giggling, disheveled - flushed cheeks, locks of hair beginning to slip from the pigtails, one knee sock slipping down her leg. She has no idea how many of those in attendance are fantasizing about fucking her right now.
You are among them. She doesn't know you, hasn't noticed you - you're unobtrusive in the dim light of the hallway, standing back from the more exuberant partygoers. You have seen her desire glowing in her eyes.
She stumbles from the center of the crowd. She needs to find a bathroom. The ones on the third floor are occupied, and someone sends her downstairs, to the deserted second floor. You head down a back staircase to meet her.
When she emerges from the restroom a few minutes later, you are waiting for her by the door. Her judgment is off...she is taken completely by surprise as you grab her from behind, covering her mouth.
Within instants she is pressed against the wall again, in an imitation of the panorama she presented upstairs. Only this time, it is you restraining her, and you're not playing a game.
She is scared - you can feel her trembling in your grip - but she makes no attempt to escape you. When you're satisfied that she won't fight, won't scream, your hand leaves her mouth and ventures down, under the skirt, over the panties. You can feel her moisture soaking through the smooth satin.
She is completely shaven. Somehow this doesn't surprise you. You don't speak as you tease her pussy with your fingertips, exploring her swollen clit, the heat of her sex. You can't believe how wet she is, how she's already pushing back toward you, silently begging for your fingers to fill her cunt. Your fingers caress, torment...and finally, thrust inside her. She arches against you with a power you weren't expecting, a long, soft moan escaping her lips.
You have to have her. You flip her little skirt up over her ass, pull her panties to the side, and enter her in one smooth motion. She's tight, her pussy clenching at you already, even during this initial penetration, and she's trying desperately to be quiet with very little success. Her wetness coats her inner thighs as you repeatedly thrust into her, gradually picking up speed until she's writhing in your powerful grip, biting her lip, trying not to scream.
And then, you pull out, and she whimpers in frustration. She was so close...
