This is one I would
not
like to live out in real life In fact, even as a fantasy, I found it at least as disturbing as arousing -- and the current version has been revised to meet Literotica posting standards.
But several things jelled at once when I was thinking about story possibilities - and I had to write it to keep get it out of my system.
I have a hard time being objective about this one. But if it doesn't disturb you, I didn't get it right.
Javahead
*
"Was it worth waiting for?"
I turned and mimed applause. Shelly was an image of cool elegance, slender in a snug-fitting black slip dress. No stockings - with her olive skin, she didn't need them.
As I helped her into her coat, I realized that the dress was
all
she was wearing; the dress was thin enough that I would have noticed bra strap or panty lines, and translucent enough to give hints of her dark nipples and pubic patch.
I swallowed. "Are you *sure* you want to go the party? I could call Rob and give him our regrets, and we could settle down here . . ."
She cut me off with a laugh. "Down boy! Public party first, private party later." She danced lightly out of range of my mock grab, and laughed again.
===
I offered her my arm as walked towards the house. Though we were early, the closer parking was already taken. Laughter drifted around from the terrace in the rear.
"Remember, don't let me drink too much." Her expression was half serious.
Shelly has almost no capacity for drinking - even a glass of wine turns her giddy; it also tends to make her very, very, horny. More than two, though, and she gets sleepy, almost comatose.
I laughed at her. "One or two, no more. I have plans for you, my dear." She made a face back at me as I put on my best leer.
I
would
keep an eye on her, not that she usually needs it; she'd learned the hard way how little tolerance her body has for drinking.
===
A young man, one of the college boys Rob had hired to help with the party, let us in. After a brief detour upstairs to leave the coats in one of the spare bedrooms, we threaded our way through the mob in the living room to join the even larger mob on the terrace. There must have been over 50 people there already.
Rob waved us a welcome without interrupting his conversation; we waved back, and moved on. Most of the guests were people I didn't recognize.
"Do you want to dance?"
Shelly shook her head. "Maybe later. I'd like to circulate a bit and meet people, first."
Wine glasses in hand, we did just that. Before long, a female friend claimed her, and I wandered over to join the group listening to the band. Looking back, I could see the two women now had several men in attendance.
Somehow, I found myself roped into a heated political discussion, the kind that usually ends with some variation of "I guess they're
all
crooks!" I didn't get to hear the end of this one, though - just as it started to reach the loud stage, Shelly reappeared and pulled me out onto the dance floor.
Though she was enjoying herself, she wasn't dancing with her usual careful restraint. I took in her flushed expression and raw, almost predatory, dancing style with a frown.
"Shelly, just how much wine did you drink?"
She giggled at my worried expression. "I know, I know - I've had all the wine I need. Don't worry, dear - I only had two glasses, and I'm switching to punch after this. You'd better switch, too - you're going to need all your strength later."
Though she tried her best, Shelly's face isn't really built for dirty leers. Though I was delighted by the sentiment, it took all my willpower not to laugh at her.
Instead, I steered her towards the buffet. She wasn't hungry, but did accept a tall glass of the milky-looking orange punch. She sipped, then took a much bigger drink.
"This is good!"
I laughed at the pleased surprise in her voice, and got a glass for myself. I had to agree with her - it was good: creamy, mildly orange flavored, and slightly fizzy. I sipped mine slowly, then laughed again when I saw that she had finished her first glass and was asking for a refill.
