By a quarter to one everyone had gone, and all I wanted to do was wash the green makeup off my face and hands. The caterers moved rapidly through our large living room, retrieving the half-filled glasses, cocktail plates and crumpled napkins that littered every tabletop. I started towards the kitchen to make sure their supervisor didn’t have any clean-up questions, when Mark pulled me into the closet off the foyer.
“What are you doing?”
“Play along,” he said as he closed the door. We stood in the dark, wedged between wool and down winter coats that somehow held the scent of snow even though it was only October. There was barely room to move.
“Silence, witch!” He laughed and reached down, lifting up my long black velour dress, working to get his hands under the yards of fabric.
“Baby, I’m tired and I need to help them clean up.”
“No. You need to turn around,” he said, as his hands found my bare hips under my costume and swiveled them.
Instead of resisting, I let him turn my body so that my forehead almost touched the closed door of the closet. His index finger glided over my clitoris, the tip circled the mouth of my vagina, the shaft rubbed and slid. He persisted that way along my slit: rubbing and sliding, sliding and rubbing. I gasped with each stroke, and pressed into his touch.
His cock stiffened against my bottom.
“Beg for it,” he whispered, lips moving against my ear.
I wanted to bend over so he’d have room to slam deep into my cunt, but there was no space to maneuver. Right outside the door, someone dropped something. A dish? It didn’t shatter.
“Be careful,” Marge, the site manager, said to one of her crew. “Have you seen Nina?”
Mark spread my labia with his right fingers and entered my vagina with two from the other hand, probing. I stifled a moan and reached for the doorknob. Marge would have no reason to look in the closet, but I wasn’t positive she knew where the door in front of her led. I grabbed the knob as quietly as I could. I would hold the door closed if she tried to open it.
Footsteps trailed away.
Mark pulled his hands away from my center and the vacancy left cool air. He yanked my hips towards him so my back arched. Now my neck turned, my cheek pressed against the door. He pushed the head of his cock between the lips of my vulva and stopped, leaving me to pulse against him, twitching, hungry.
“I told you to beg,” he whispered.
“Do it,” I said.
He ran his fingertip around my clit, and pushed his penis nearer to the rim of my vagina. I rolled my hips to try and take him in, but he pulled away.
“Do you want my cock?”
I wanted turn around, jump up and ram it into me. I tried to twist to him, but he locked me in his arms. Wetness trickled at the top of my thigh. In the hallway the caterers continued passing. “I don’t know where she is,” one of them said, seeming annoyed.
I kept one hand tight on the doorknob, and reached the other over the fabric bunched around my hips to my vulva where Mark’s cock, still poised, licked my labia. All of our skin was drenched.
“See what I do to you?” he said.
“Fuck me now.”
“You have to ask.”
I sighed, then giggled. Too aroused to disobey. “Mark Jackson will you kindly push that thing into me?”
When his full length plowed deep into my sopping hole–all in one thrust–I cried out in pain and pleasure. He was too drunk to protect me from every inch like he normally did, and I was far more slippery than usual.
“Did you hear that?” It was one of Marge’s waiters. I held the doorknob firm, even as it wiggled from someone trying to turn it on the other side. Mark’s cock pulled out just enough so that I was no longer in distress, but my center remained very much filled with his stiff girth.
“The door is stuck,” said the voice.
I pulled harder on the knob, attempting to remain silent. Mark found my clit again with his finger, and made minuscule thrusts with this penis. My walls stretched around him and craved harder motion. It was almost too much to take, I nearly opened the door, despite the person standing right there, just so I could curl onto all fours and be properly fucked. So what if they saw? This was our home.
“Go away!” I shouted.
“What?” The waiter in the hall sounded astonished.
“Everything’s fine, but you need to leave now.”
Mark began to slowly pull his cock from me; I felt his flesh glide along my inner nerves centimeter by centimeter. His massage of my clit continued, but slowed, as well.
In the hall, there were murmurs and shuffling. Heavy footsteps.
Mark continued pulling out slowly until the tip of him–that plump head I love so much–paused at my entrance. His end sealed my beginning, air tight. My labia clung to his wideness.
Margie said, “Okay then. I’m locking the front door behind us.”
Then Mark jammed into me again and again and again, holding my hips, steering me with each new plunge, riding me without puncturing too deep. I let go of the doorknob, reached my hands into the bodice of my costume and squeezed my nipples before finding my clit. I groped his cock as it hammered into my stretched vulva; I rubbed our skin with each of this thrusts. We moved faster and faster, propelling into a frenzy, harder and harder until we spilled out of the closet onto the wooden floor of the hallway. Finally alone, we fucked on all fours. His fingers strummed my clit without letting up and even when I came, it seemed there was no end.
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