Life of the Party

by Parker Dupris

So here’s the fantasy: he’s having a party at his place, and you’ll be helping it make it an evening worth remembering. His friends and some of their friends will be over socializing. There will be hors d’oeuvers, drinks, dinner, and time to mingle. Music in the background moves between jazz and some Euro, kept low-ish so people can hear themselves talk. Fresh-cut flowers in all the vases.

You’re waiting patiently upstairs, in a guest bedroom next to the guest bath. People will head upstairs all during the party to do their business or otherwise get away fro the main throng. You might catch sight of them through the open crack of the bedroom door. They might catch sight of you.

Normally you’d be downstairs with everyone, helping to host. Smiling, chatting it up with his friends, looking beautiful and sexy in your sophisticated little black dress and heels to die for. Tasteful makeup, maybe a little bracelet and some danglers.

But tonight you’re fulfilling a different role.

Something you’ve been anticipating for weeks. Even now, your heart is thundering, you’re almost panting, and you’re in there all by yourself. Lights out, until the first guest visits.

You’re to be part of the evening’s entertainment; a little diversion at the top of the stairs, first bedroom on the right. Word will get around downstairs about you, and in groups of one or two or three, the guests will come to see for themselves what the buzz is about. If its true, what’s being said.

keptAnd they’ll make their way up to the room. They’ll see you, their eyes playing over your body, and they’ll understand it was really true.

“Go see her,” he told them, about you. “She’s there totally for your use. She’ll give you an amazing time. And if you think of it, clean up after you’re done. You know, for the next person. Oh yea, and she’s been directed to not speak at all, but she’ll answer questions if you have any.”

You’re tied to the bed, securely with the soft but strong shibari ropes. You’re spread eagle, your breasts exposed and your nipples aching in the cool air. You’ve got the flimsiest pair of panties on, and you may as well not even be wearing them, because they let everything show. Every contour, every bit of shape.

They’ll be easy to push aside, or just tear off completely. Their disposable, not meant to last through the evening.

You’re wearing a sleep mask, but if a guest wants he could take it off of you. If he wanted you to see him as he toyed with you, as he mounted you. If he wanted you to see his friends, watching you both as he had his way with you. Before they each took their own turn, with the other guys filming, talking about your charms, texting those downstairs about what they had to look forward to.

That friend of his, who’s always wanted you. You can tell, by the way he always looking at you. Will he take you tonight? Or will he be too shy, or too disgusted, his image of you as a sweet girl shattered?

The virgin who comes up several times without touching you, before finally summoning his nerve and muttering before he mounts you and spills inside you so quickly.

The older man with the impossibly thick cock, who stretches you more than you thought possible.

The guy who was a little too rough, but you were fine with it. Especially the second time he came back. There will probably be bruises, but those will fade. Tomorrow you’ll be sore. Stretched. Red and raw. The wet cream will be running out of you. From all of them.

Will any of the girlfriends come up with their men, watching them as you’re taken? Maybe they’ll give direction. Maybe they’ll lick you, or spit on you while you’re being fucked. Or maybe they’ll be the ones who write “SLUT” on you with the Sharpie on the nightstand.

Someone will, of course. Someone always does.

That is, if they don’t write something clever before they take their turn with you. Someone could roll you over, exposing your ass, and in that spot on your lower back that calls out to such things, write in big bold black letters something clever, worthy of a selfie with you, as you lay there all tied up. Something like…

“Life of the Party”