Chapter 7: Party
The low thrum of conversation vibrated through the heavy velvet drapes before Rachel even opened Ed’s apartment door. Inside, the air shimmered with heat and scent – expensive perfume mingling with sandalwood incense, spilled wine, and the musk of aroused bodies. Candlelight flickered in sconces, casting dancing shadows across the plush rugs and antique furniture. Bodies moved in the dimness, some clothed in provocative lingerie, others entirely nude, draped over couches or entangled in corners. Laughter, low murmurs, the occasional sharp gasp punctuated the ambient hum. It was a world away from boardrooms and budgets, a sanctuary of surrendered inhibitions.
Rachel smoothed her short, sapphire silk dress, feeling the familiar, grounding ache deep inside – the lingering echo of yesterday’s plug training, a secret reminder of Ed’s claim beneath the party attire. Her husband, Chris, stood beside her, his hand warm on the small of her back. He scanned the room with relaxed curiosity, a faint smile playing on his lips. Their open marriage allowed for nights like this, explorations undertaken separately yet tethered by mutual respect and shared understanding. Seeing Rachel submit elsewhere didn’t threaten him; it intrigued him, a facet of her complexity he admired but didn't crave to dominate himself.
"Quite the gathering," Chris murmured, nodding towards a knot of people near the overflowing bar.
Rachel’s gaze, however, instantly found Ed. He stood near the grand fireplace, its mantle draped in dark velvet. He wore tailored black trousers and an open-collared charcoal shirt, sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms. His dark, curly hair was slightly tousled, framing a face engaged in animated conversation with a striking couple – a statuesque brunette in leather harness briefs and a lean, silver-haired man sipping whiskey. Ed’s laugh, deep and resonant, cut through the murmur. He looked effortlessly commanding, the intellectual professor transformed into the undisputed center of his own sensual domain. Seeing him here, amidst the controlled chaos, sent a familiar jolt of heat straight to Rachel’s core.
Ed’s eyes lifted, meeting hers across the room. A slow, knowing smile touched his lips. He didn’t beckon, didn’t gesture. He simply held her gaze, a silent summons that bypassed conscious thought. Rachel felt Chris’s hand gently squeeze her waist. "Go on," he whispered, his voice warm with understanding. "I see Liam by the bar. Catch up later."
Rachel moved through the crowd, the silk of her dress whispering against her thighs. Bodies brushed past, conversations swirled around her – snippets about art, politics, the deliciousness of the oysters – but her focus narrowed to Ed. He watched her approach, his conversation never faltering, though his attention subtly shifted, encompassing her arrival.
"...so the data visualization needs to tell the story of the impact, not just the numbers," Ed was saying to the silver-haired man as Rachel stopped beside him. He didn’t immediately acknowledge her, continuing his point. Then, without breaking eye contact with the couple, his hand reached out, fingers brushing lightly against Rachel’s hip. A silent command understood.
Rachel sank gracefully to her knees on the thick Persian rug beside Ed’s chair. The position felt instantly right, grounding. She folded her hands loosely in her lap, gaze lowered respectfully, though she remained acutely aware of the surrounding party. The brunette glanced down, a flicker of appreciation in her eyes, before returning her attention to Ed. The conversation flowed – science communication strategies, the upcoming gallery opening downtown. Rachel listened, the familiar cadence of Ed’s voice washing over her, a balm against the party’s sensory overload. His hand remained on her hip, a warm, possessive weight.
Ed shifted slightly in his chair. His fingers trailed up from her hip, tracing the line of her spine beneath the silk, coming to rest at the nape of her neck. His thumb began to massage the tense muscles there, firm, deliberate circles that made Rachel sigh softly, her head bowing slightly. The intimacy of the touch, amidst the public setting, was profoundly claiming. He continued talking, debating the merits of interactive exhibits versus static displays, his voice calm, authoritative. His thumb moved higher, fingers tangling gently in the roots of her red-gold curls, massaging her scalp. It was tender, almost possessive care, a stark contrast to the raw dominance she knew lurked beneath.
Then, his other hand moved. Subtly, beneath the level of the table beside his chair. Rachel heard the soft rasp of his zipper. Her breath hitched. She kept her gaze downcast, focused on the intricate pattern of the rug, but her entire being attuned to his movements. She saw the shift of fabric out of the corner of her eye. Felt the subtle change in his posture. He didn’t look at her. He kept talking to the couple, his hand never stopping its soothing massage of her scalp.
"Open your mouth, Rachel."
His command was low, pitched only for her ears, yet it vibrated through her bones. It wasn't a question. It was an expectation. An order wrapped in the casual flow of conversation.
Rachel obeyed instantly. Her lips parted. She kept her eyes fixed on the rug, her heart hammering against her ribs. The scent of him, sandalwood and clean male skin, intensified. She felt the soft brush of fabric against her cheek, then the warm, heavy weight of his cock resting against her lower lip. The thick, blunt head nudged gently at her entrance.
"Suck."
The single word, delivered in that same calm, conversational tone while he listened to the silver-haired man describe a holographic art installation, ignited a firestorm in Rachel’s belly. Humiliation warred with fierce, aching desire. She leaned forward slightly, closing her lips around the broad head of his cock. The familiar taste of salt and skin flooded her mouth. She took him deeper, her tongue flattening against the sensitive underside, swirling around the corona. She heard Ed inhale sharply, a fractional pause in his breathing, before his voice resumed, smooth and engaged.
"...the immersive aspect is key, absolutely," Ed agreed with the brunette, his fingers tightening slightly in Rachel’s hair, guiding her rhythm. Not forcing, but directing. "But it needs narrative cohesion." His thumb rubbed slow circles on her scalp as Rachel began to move her head, taking more of him into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks to create suction. The thick shaft stretched her lips, filled her mouth. She focused on the texture, the heat, the pulse she could feel against her tongue. The sounds of the party – laughter, clinking glasses, distant music – faded into a muffled backdrop. Her world narrowed to the weight on her tongue, the pressure of his hand in her hair, the deep timbre of his voice above her discussing funding models while she serviced him.
"That's it," he murmured, almost absently, a whisper meant only for her amidst his louder conversation. "Good girl. Take it deep." His fingers tightened, urging her head down further. She relaxed her throat, letting the thick head nudge past the resistance, taking him deeper until her nose pressed against the coarse hair at his base. She held there for a second, breathing through her nose, feeling utterly claimed, utterly used. Then he eased her back, letting her draw breath before guiding her down again in a slow, steady rhythm.
She sucked him with focused devotion, her tongue working the shaft, swirling around the head each time she pulled back. Saliva slicked her chin. Her own arousal was a throbbing ache between her legs, dampening her silk panties. The public nature of the act, hidden yet utterly exposed to anyone who glanced their way, was intoxicating. She saw polished shoes walk past. Heard a woman’s light laugh nearby. Ed’s hand remained a grounding pressure on her scalp, his thumb still massaging gently even as he commanded her mouth.
"Faster," he instructed softly, his voice betraying the first hint of strain beneath its conversational veneer. He was responding to something the silver-haired man said, agreeing about grant application deadlines, while his cock began to thrust shallowly into Rachel’s mouth, meeting her bobbing head. The rhythm intensified. She sucked harder, hollowing her cheeks fiercely, her jaw aching pleasantly. She felt him swell, thicken, the veins standing proud against her lips. His breathing hitched again, a longer pause this time. His fingers clenched in her hair, holding her firmly in place as his hips lifted slightly off the chair, driving his cock deeper into her throat. She gagged softly, tears springing to her eyes, but didn't pull away. She took it, her throat working around him, her nose buried in his musk.
He groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through her skull. It was swallowed almost instantly by a cough, then he cleared his throat, his voice returning, slightly rougher. "...yes, the deadline is tight, but achievable with the right team focus." His cock pulsed violently on her tongue, hot jets of cum flooding her mouth, thick and salty. Rachel swallowed convulsively, taking every drop, her throat working, her eyes watering. He held her there, buried deep, until the last tremor subsided.
Slowly, gently, he eased her head back. His softening cock slipped from her swollen lips. Rachel stayed kneeling, catching her breath, wiping her chin discreetly with the back of her hand. Ed’s hand remained on her head, stroking her hair now, a gesture of profound possession and unexpected tenderness. He resumed his conversation seamlessly, as if nothing had happened. "So, Marcus, tell me more about the kinetic sculpture component..."
Rachel knelt beside his chair, the taste of him lingering on her tongue, the ache in her jaw a sweet reminder. The party swirled around her – the laughter, the music, the scent of bodies and wine. She was a secret exposed, a powerful woman brought to her knees, servicing her Dom while he discussed art grants. The humiliation was sharp, exquisite. The submission, complete. She closed her eyes for a second, leaning subtly into the pressure of his hand on her head. The plug inside her throbbed in time with her heartbeat. She belonged here, on her knees, owned amidst the glittering chaos. The craving wasn't sated; it deepened, rooting her more firmly in his control. The night was young. His commands were far from over.
The taste of him lingered, thick and salty on her tongue, even as Ed’s hand shifted from her scalp to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing her lower lip where his cock had just been. His conversation with Marcus and the brunette flowed on, a river of words about light refraction and grant proposals, utterly detached from the slick heat gathering between Rachel’s thighs and the persistent throb of the plug she still carried. "Impressive tensile strength required, naturally," Ed mused, his gaze fixed on Marcus, while his thumb pressed firmly against Rachel’s parted lips. "Open wider." She obeyed instinctively, presenting her mouth for his inspection. He looked down, not at Marcus now, but directly into her eyes, a flicker of dark possession in his brown gaze as he examined the wet, reddened interior. "Good," he murmured, the word a low vibration meant only for her before he casually wiped the pad of his thumb over her chin, collecting a stray bead of saliva, and turned his attention back to Marcus. "As I was saying, the structural integrity is paramount."
His hand left her jaw, moving to the narrow strap of her sapphire silk dress resting on her shoulder. The touch was light, almost absent, a proprietor adjusting his possession. His fingers hooked under the delicate strap. "Stand up, kitten." His voice remained conversational, part of the dialogue with his guests, yet the command sliced through her. She rose smoothly on legs that trembled only slightly, the plush rug soft beneath her bare feet. He didn’t look at her, still engaged with Marcus, discussing load-bearing capacities, while his fingers slid the single strap down her arm. The cool air kissed her skin as the silk slithered down her torso, pooling around her ankles like spilled ink, leaving her utterly naked except for her high heels and the hidden plug. A faint flush crept up her neck, awareness of the surrounding party crashing in – the nearby laughter, the clink of ice in a glass, the speculative glances she felt rather than saw. She kept her chin high, her CEO poise a fragile shield over the raw exposure. Ed’s gaze swept over her nude form – the sculpted curves, the fiery triangle of curls at her apex, the fading marks from their previous encounters – with cool appraisal, like an artist surveying a favored piece. "Exquisite form, wouldn't you agree?" he remarked casually to Marcus and the brunette, gesturing towards her with a tilt of his head. Marcus’s eyes widened appreciatively, lingering on the swell of her breasts, while the brunette offered a slow, knowing smile. "Stunning, Ed," Marcus breathed, raising his whiskey glass slightly in a silent toast to her revealed beauty.
"Come here," Ed commanded, patting his thigh. Rachel stepped out of the silk puddle, the click of her heels unnaturally loud in her own ears as she moved to stand before him. He grasped her hips, his large hands warm and firm, and guided her down until she was seated sideways across his lap. Her bare skin met the rough texture of his trousers, a stark contrast. He effortlessly shifted her, pulling her legs wide apart over one arm of the deep leather wingback chair, forcing her to hook her heels on the opposite arm for balance, spreading her legs obscenely wide before their audience. The cool air of the room rushed against her exposed folds, making her clit twitch. The plug shifted inside her, a deep, intimate counterpoint to the exposure. Ed’s right hand slid unerringly between her splayed thighs. His middle finger found her entrance, slick with her own arousal, and pushed inside her cunt without preamble to the second knuckle. Rachel gasped, her head falling back slightly, the sensation sharp and welcome. He began to finger her slowly, deeply, curling his finger against her inner walls, his thumb finding her swollen clit and rubbing firm, deliberate circles. "The density of the material," he continued, his voice betraying only the slightest roughness now as he addressed Marcus, his eyes fixed on Rachel’s face, watching every flinch, every suppressed moan as he worked her, "absorbs vibration, crucial for the kinetic elements." His fingers moved with devastating precision inside her, stroking, spreading her wetness, the obscene sounds barely masked by the party’s murmur. Marcus watched, transfixed, his drink forgotten, while the brunette’s gaze was sharp, assessing, a flicker of arousal in her own eyes. Rachel bit her lip, trying to stifle the whimpers rising in her throat, her hips lifting subtly into his hand, seeking more pressure. "See how responsive?" Ed murmured, almost conversationally, curling his finger again, hitting a spot that made her jerk violently against him. "Beautifully engineered."
His fingers withdrew suddenly, leaving her clenching on emptiness, slick and aching. He wiped his wet fingers casually on the arm of the chair. "Straddle me." The command brooked no delay. He shifted her effortlessly, pulling her forward until she knelt over his lap, facing him, her knees planted on the leather cushion on either side of his hips. His erection was already straining hard against his trousers again. His hands went to his belt, the buckle clinking, the zipper rasping down. He freed his thick cock, already fully hard, flushed and glistening slightly at the tip. He gripped the base, angling it upwards. "Guide it in," he ordered, his voice dropping lower, husky with need. "Show everyone how hungry my pretty pussy is." Rachel reached down with trembling fingers, her own arousal slicking her hand as she grasped his hot, rigid length. The feel of him, the weight, sent another jolt of desperate need through her. She positioned the broad, blunt head against her dripping entrance, swollen lips parting easily for him. She sank down slowly, her breath catching as the thick crown stretched her, filled her. Ed’s hands locked onto her hips, not helping, just holding, forcing her to impale herself entirely on him. She pushed down, taking him inch by burning inch into her tight, wet channel, her inner muscles fluttering around the invading girth until his pelvis met hers, his cock buried to the hilt inside her cunt. A low moan escaped her, raw and unfiltered.
"Fuck yourself on my cock," Ed commanded, his voice rough now, his gaze locked on where they were joined. "Show them." He released her hips, leaning back slightly in the chair, the picture of relaxed dominance, his hands resting on the armrests. Rachel obeyed, her body moving instinctively, driven by deep-seated need. She lifted herself up, the drag of his thick cock almost pulling her clit with it, then plunged back down, taking him deep. Her movements were hesitant at first, self-conscious under the gazes she felt burning into her skin – Marcus leaning forward, the brunette watching with narrowed eyes, other faces turning towards the scene unfolding in the wingback chair. But the sensations were too intense, too consuming. Ed’s cock filled her perfectly, stretching her sensitive walls, the plug a constant, deep pressure beneath. Her hips began to move with more purpose, lifting higher, slamming down harder, the wet slap of flesh meeting flesh punctuating the low thrum of conversation. "That's it," Ed growled, watching her breasts bounce, her face contort with building pleasure. "Ride it, you greedy slut. Show them how much you love being my fucktoy." Rachel whimpered, the filthy words sending sparks through her nerve endings. She fucked him harder, faster, her thighs burning, her cunt gripping him desperately. She saw Marcus adjust his trousers, saw the brunette place a hand on his thigh. Ed’s eyes were dark coals, fixed on her, his jaw tight. "Come on it," he rasped, a command, not a request. "Squirt all over my cock in front of everyone, you filthy exhibitionist little kitten"
The verbal lash, the relentless stretch of his cock hitting her deepest spot, the sheer public indecency of it, detonated her control. A ragged scream tore from her throat as her orgasm crashed over her, violent and all-consuming. Her body convulsed, hips jerking erratically as her cunt clamped down in hard, rhythmic spasms around his shaft, hot liquid gushing around the intrusion. She felt Ed buck beneath her, a harsh groan ripping from him as her spasms triggered his release. His hands clamped back onto her hips, slamming her down hard onto him as he pumped jet after hot jet of cum deep inside her pulsing channel, his cock throbbing against her clenching walls. Rachel collapsed forward against his chest, spent and trembling, the world reduced to the hammering of her heart, the feel of his cock still buried deep and pulsing within her, the slick mess between them, and the low murmur of voices surrounding them. Ed wrapped one powerful arm around her shaking back, holding her close, his breath hot on her temple. His other hand possessively cupped her ass, fingers tracing the curve where the plug resided. "Good girl," he murmured, the words vibrating against her skin, a dark promise laced with satisfaction. "Such a perfect little kitten for me." The party pulsed around them, the air thick with sex and voyeuristic energy. Rachel felt the plug shift again inside her with the movement of Ed's hand, a reminder that even amidst this public use, her most intimate claim belonged solely to him. The night held more lessons. Her surrender was far from complete.