“I don’t know. I guess I mentioned to R that we liked to have sex in front of people, then she told K, and he asked if we’d work a party for him.”
I nodded, trying to follow the chain of events that led us to a private elevator, a private party, and private people who wanted to watch a couple of kinky weirdos get freaky in front of them.
It’s not a big deal though. We can totally do this, I thought. We’ll be like a sushi girl, or a birthday clown. Just with fewer clothes and smaller shoes.
Once in the penthouse, we mingled as best we could. It was part of the deal, so we complied. Talk, chat, and pretend that you fit in. Make friends. Look at ease. Then, at exactly eleven, push her down to the floor, slap her face a few times, choke her with my cock, undress her in front of the crowd, and fuck her on the coffee table.
At least they didn’t want anything we don’t normally do.
“I think it’s time,” she finally said looking at the clock on the wall. I looked around at the smiling rich faces in the room and shrugged. We had done the hard party, so we might as well do the rest.
“You are a little cunt!” I screamed, as I dragged her to the living room. People turned, cocktails in hand as they stared at us. I slapped her hard, and she put her hand to her face, a perfect expression of surprise and anger. On her knees, I slapped her again, the names flying from my lips as the room around me burst out in silence.
In less than a minute I had my cock out, one hand in her hair, and I was seriously throat fucking her as I continued telling her what a little slut she was. Someone screamed, and someone else looked like they might call the police. Or possibly they were just Instagramming us. Hard to tell.
But, since we had a job to do, I pull her up, lifted her dress around her waist, pushed her panties to the floor, bent her over the couch, and fucked her hard. Just like we do at home. She screamed and begged me to stop, I slapped her ass and called her a whore, and it was fun. A few people had moved closer, and some folks were obviously enjoying the show. That was a relief. We were hoping for decent tips.
“Can I talk to you?”
I turned around mid-thrust to see the host standing next to me, shifting from one foot to the other as he rubbed his hands together.
“Do you want a turn?” I asked, winking at him. It wasn’t part of the deal, but we could play along for a bit.
“Actually,” he said, leaning in closely, “that party is next week. This is my wife’s book club meeting. You were scheduled for the twelfth, not the fifth.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, barely fucking her at all anymore. “Next week?”
“I’m very sure,” he said, looking around the room at the horrified faces of the guests.
“Right then,” I said, pulling out and zipping up. “Honey, it’s the wrong night. Sorry about that.”
“Oh, how embarrassing,” she said, standing up, slipping her panties back on, and straightening her dress. She turned to face the disgusted yet fascinated crowd. She used her best stage voice. “Sorry to make a scene. You know how it is. We just really loved the book!”
Thirty seconds later we were back in the elevator, sitting on the floor with a stolen bottle of champagne, laughing so hard we thought we might pee.
“Did he want to reschedule?” She asked.
“No,” I said, stealing the bottle back. “Somehow I don’t think he did.”
And then there was more laughter as we began our long, slow, descent.