The Party

I’ve reserved a nice sized Moroccan themed club for the party. It’s located way downtown where the streets get mazelike and confusing unless you know precisely where you’re going. But it’s lavish, with heavily embroidered pillows in rich tones of garnet, ochre, azure and emerald, and worth the effort it takes to get way across town. The large main dance floor is surrounded by curved archways opening onto smaller, more intimate spaces illuminated only by the light of flickering candles inside Moorish lanterns. I arrive early to make sure everything is perfect. Andrew meets me there and nods his approval.

“This place looks amazing, Tess, and so do you,” he says.

“Thanks, Andrew, let’s hope Chase is as pleased as you are,” I reply.

“Chase seems to think you can do no wrong, Tess. You’ve done a wonderful job on this project.”

“Just remember that come bonus time, Andrew. Don’t worry though, I’ll remind you.”

The DJ pumps the music up as guests start to arrive. The club throbs with the sensuous beat of classic Arabic music blended with the more modern melodies of Buddha Bar. I watch the door for Chase’s arrival, but Dar arrives first, looking so damn handsome in his dark handmade suit. I feel myself getting wet even though he’s across the room. He goes to the bar and orders a drink, I’m sure it’s his usual Laphroig. He turns around, drink in hand and smiles as I make my way over to him. I love his smile; he melts me with that smile, it can make my world right in an instant or, on the flip side, it can send daggers of fear into my heart when he’s backed me into a corner and his mouth stretches into a thin cruel smile as his hand reaches for my throat. Everything about Dar is like that, contradictory, uncertain; I must always be alert to the nuances of his behavior.

Tonight’s smile is one of welcome. He bends to kiss me and discreetly lets his hand fall against the small of my back and slide down along the gentle slope of my ass. I taste the smoky, peaty flavor of scotch on his lips and tongue and don’t bother fighting to suppress the moan that rises from my throat and echoes in his mouth. He places the tumbler on the bar, and with a hand still chilled from the iced glass, wraps his large hand around the back of my neck, sending electricity down my spine, as he whispers one word, “Later.”

Seeing Chase enter, I don’t have time to dwell on that thought.

“Come on, Dar, Chase has just arrived, let me introduce you,” I say, already pulling his compliant body along behind me.

My eyes move from one to the other as they politely shake hands and make the requisite amount of small talk; two strong and powerful men, unshakable in their resolve once they set their minds on a goal. Their similarities end there. Chase is six foot two, lean with broad shoulders, blonde hair cropped close and dazzling blue grey eyes. He is calm and kind even under pressure. I think he’d be a slow, gentle and patient lover. Sometimes when things are brittle with Dar, I wonder what it would be like to be with a man like him. I doubt I’d flourish the way I do under Dar’s iron grip. Dar’s dominance grounds me and makes me stronger and while it sometimes seems to be more painful than I can bear, it never ceases to excite me. Dar is the dark to my light, he provides me with the balance I need and crave.

My Dar is impatient; he doesn’t suffer fools gladly. His temper is explosive and violent, and while I always love him, I sometimes fear him. Exactly what I fear I can’t put my finger on. I trust him never to injure me, never to do anything so drastic that it would put my life in jeopardy, but he is capable of the ultimate mind fuck. There are times I think he could easily strangle me in anger. I take my security where I can get it. His moral compass may function differently than the average persons but it guides everything he does. I have faith in that.

I excuse myself to go check on the food and make the rounds like a good hostess, ensuring everyone is having a good time. The belly dancers arrive and put on quite a show in the center of the dance floor, entangling Chase in a flurry of multi colored scarves and jiggling bits. He leaves the dance floor flushed and wearing a huge grin.

Suddenly I realize I’ve been so busy being a hostess that I haven’t seen Dar in almost an hour. Looking around I see him standing in an alcove with one of the belly dancers. She’s stunning, the bitch, and Dar’s general type to boot. An exotic beauty with deep brown almond shaped eyes, mocha skin, and curves everywhere. Her long, straight dark hair is a silken sheet that, as she dances, alternately flies in front of her face and then touches the floor when she bends backward. Hips shimmying, belly rolling seductively, she closes the already too small gap between them. I stand there transfixed; unexpected anger a cold white heat that freezes me in place. I am usually not jealous of Dar. He has had plenty of opportunities to be with other women, he chose me. I am secure in his devotion but her overt seduction of my man just makes me seethe.

I don’t think as I make my way through the crowd, my rational mind seems to have momentarily deserted me as anger takes control. He smiles at me as I approach. She’s facing him, lost in the reverie of her dance and so doesn’t even take note of me until I tap her on the shoulder – twice. She stops and turns to me, a smile still spread wide across her striking face. That smile enrages me even further, as does Dar’s bemused look as he takes in the scene unfolding before him.

I could have said it nicer, I know that. I hired the dancers, my telling her where to go should have been sweet and polite and businesslike. Instead I unsheathe my claws.

I stand in front of her, hands solidly placed on my hips, my entire body language and the fire in my eyes no doubt making the statement even harsher. “There are plenty of other guests for you to shake your tits at,” I say.

She looks a bit stunned, but quickly realizes who I am, and though I can see she’s dying to say something nasty back, she just nods at me, gives Dar her brightest smile and shimmies off into the crowd.

“Tsk,” he chides, complete with wagging finger, “jealousy doesn’t become you, pet.”

“Fuck you, Dar, I’m not jealous. Her job was to entertain the guests, not seduce you.”

He grabs my arm, pressing his fingers much too harshly into my flesh, though to anyone looking it would seem protective, and pulls me towards him. I can’t struggle, not here, I can’t fight, and I can’t flee. I am stuck there, with my heart thumping in my chest, as I realize I am compounding my error in judgment.

“You’d do well to watch your mouth, pet. And not jealous, eh, Tess? Is that so? She’s very beautiful. She clearly likes me. How difficult do you imagine it would be to seduce her into fucking me while you watch,” he whispers. “Not very, no not very hard at all, especially after your little fit of petulance. I imagine she’d relish the opportunity to exact a measure of revenge.”

“Then do it if that’s what you want, you bastard” I say, managing to extract myself from his grip and make my way, fuming, to the bar.

I am so mad, at myself more than anyone. I have exposed my soft underbelly to him and I cursed at him, which he hates. And worse still is the fact that he is right, I am jealous and protective of what’s mine. Oh god, such a wonderful night, and now I’ve gone and awoken his beast. His posture, his social smile, and his easy banter with the other guests mask it but I know well what to expect tonight. It’s simply a matter of how much pain it will take to satiate him.

Andrew and Chase are chatting over cocktails and Chase beckons me over. He’s a bit tipsy, as he kisses me on both cheeks, holding my face in his hands, and thanks me for all the work I’ve done in a voice a bit thick with alcohol. Andrew, who isn’t a drinker, is no doubt still nursing his one cocktail of the night, and intercedes as he sees Dar approaching. He feigns remembering some last minute detail and leads Chase into one of the little alcoves, as I breathe a sigh of relief.

The clubs regular guests have begun arriving and the crowd is even denser, thankfully slowing Dar’s progress. I don’t need him to even touch me in order to sense how dark his mood has become. It leaches off him contaminating the very air around us. It one of the moods I fear most.

“I should drag you into one of the alcoves, bend you over one of those cocktail tables and fuck your ass right here for ruining my fun, you cunt. And worse yet, you let that man slobber all over you. You disgust me tonight, Tess.”

Those words break my heart. He plays me so well, he is the virtuoso and I am his instrument. With his words, he contorts me into the shape of a harp, bending me until I feel I will break and than placing me between his muscular thighs as he begins to pluck strings, knowing exactly what effect it will have on me as the vibrations resonate through my core.

My angry and defiant mood has evaporated and I feel terrible for making a fool of myself, wounded at his cruel words and worse, fearful of what’s to come.

“Make your excuses and get your coat, we’re leaving,” he says, walking away from me, waiting for me to follow his directives.

I don’t see him in the alcove at the coat room and slipping my arms into my soft black cashmere coat I feel as if I had wrapped myself in one of Dar’s warm embraces. I had fallen in love with the coat but sadly it was way out of my budget, and Dar, who is generous to a fault with those he loves, surprised me with it. Every time I wear it, I feel as if I am surrounded by his presence.

I step outside and see him waiting there. His expression is flat and chilling for its lack of emotion. I hate when he’s cold and clinical with me, I much prefer him to hit me in a fit of passion. Even thinking these things makes me wonder again if I’m crazy, if Maggie’s right, if I should go back to my simpler, though unsatisfied, existence with another man. How can I? Dar possesses me. It’s that simple.

“I don’t know what to say, Dar,” I whisper, looking up at him.

“You think your pathetic apologies can fix this,” he sneers, “save them, please.”

I walk rapidly to keep up with his long strides; he’s making no allowances for me. It annoys me that he expects an apology; it brings my anger rising to the surface again, “Oh I wasn’t planning on apologizing, Dar. I didn’t do anything to you. I might have made an ass of myself in front of that bitch, but I did nothing to you.”

I watch as his eyes blacken further and slide from left to right as he glances around quickly. Seeing no one around, he grabs my hair and drags me down the dark, narrow street. We come to a space between two buildings, a sliver of an alleyway, which he forces me into, until we are lost in the gloom.

My heart flutters in my chest and my breathing is rapid and shallow. I feel the panic rising threatening to overwhelm me when he pushes me against the pitted brick surface of the building. I try to protect my face from the cold, rough surface but he places a hand firmly against the back of my head and whispers malevolently, “Keep struggling and I’ll make you lick the damn wall, cunt.” The threat, which I know he’s capable of following through on, stills me. My world has shrunk and is now defined by the wall in front of me and the large, angry man behind me.

“Don’t move, Tess. I want your pretty face to stay right there,” he says.

He releases me and steps back. I remain immobile. Swallowing the lump in my throat that lets me know I am on the verge of tears. The knowledge of how hard they will make him allows me to refrain from actually crying. He hasn’t broken my stubborn streak. I doubt he totally wants to.

He advances and his heady, masculine scent surrounds me, making my knees weak even before he harshly pulls me around to face him. He’s holding his long, expensive cashmere scarf in his hand and he places it around my neck, pulling the ends until my heaving chest is against his. I barely get a chance to address the fear that threatens to incapacitate me when he speaks.

“As usual, Tess, you have a choice. I can wrap the scarf around your pretty throat and pull, enjoying the way you start to panic, see your eyes go wild and watch your limbs fail about ineffectually. Or you can strip for me, right here and now, down to the pretty undies you’re wearing, and dance for me. After all you interrupted the dance I was very much enjoying,” he says, smiling perversely. Though he smiles, his eyes are cold and flat. He’s pleased with himself for coming up with another devil’s decision. I hate both options, I’m cold, and the alley smells of beer and urine and I don’t know who may come upon us. But the thought of choosing that scarf tightening slowly around my neck, no, I can’t choose that, I just can’t.

“I’ll dance, you bastard,” I say.

Dropping the ends of the scarf, he steps back and then suddenly his hand flies out and connects sharply with my face. My teeth catch on the tender inside of my cheek and I taste blood, ferric and warm, as it flows into my mouth.

“I told you earlier to watch your mouth; I’ll not say it again. Begin. Now.”

I start unwrapping the belt that holds my waist snug and he warns me to slow down, to dance and strip at the same time. I start to move my hips slowly, rolling them from side to side, as I slip the coat off my shoulders and let it fall to the ground. The thought of a hefty dry cleaning bill floats through my mind for a moment before my fingers attack the buttons at the back of the neck of my dress, sliding them too easily through the smooth soft silk. The top falls to my waist and my breasts are bare beneath the halter top, the cold making my nipples even more swollen and erect. The sound of the zipper on the bottom of my dress opening seems unnaturally loud. I almost expect someone to open their window, look out and then sit back and enjoy the scene unfolding below them. My dress falls to my feet and I pick it up and place it on top of my coat

“Shimmy for me, bitch, shake that ass” he says, leaning back against the building opposite me.

Dar is rarely crude, and when he is it’s merely a tool to humiliate me and I find it is working. I close my eyes and dance to the music in my head, using the scarf as a prop. I decide if he wants crude, he’s going to get crude and so I spread my thighs and run the soft fabric back and forth along my slit, scenting it with my essence, as I move closer to him.

“You little whore,” he says, but his large cold hand falls to the sweet spot between my legs, and the scarf flutters to the ground as his fingers trace the edge of my satin panties, and finally slide inside my wetness.

“Unzip me,” he commands.

I squat, in an attempt to avoid kneeling on the ground in this awful place but he knows what I’m doing and pushes me down, scraping my knee in the process. I’m angry so I do it as quickly as possible, to end the humiliation, to make it be done and over with. His cock prods my lips, but he warns me to keep my lips closed until he says otherwise. Thin strands of pre-come are strung between his cock and my cheek as he rubs it along my face. I think that’s when I begin to moan, making my desire even more evident to him.

“Tell me what a greedy little whore you are, so eager for my cock. A moment ago you were angry and defiant and now look at you, bitch. Tell me you’ll do anything for my cock. We both know it’s true.”

He pulls me to my feet as he talks, and turns me to face the brick again; my palms are flat against the wall. I’m bent over with my ass jutting towards him. I don’t say the words he wants hear, not yet, not until his rigid cock pushes hard inside me, so hard that my elbows bend and my breasts are pushed against the brick. My left hand is against the brick, my right resting on top of it, protecting my face from scraping against the wall. My breasts are battered with each thrust but the feel of his heavy, live cock inside my cunt melts me from the inside out. I really am his whore, I think. I’d really do anything, forgive anything, as long as I can have him pressed against me, his breath heating my neck, his fingers digging into the flesh of my hips, his words whispered huskily into my ear.

“Yes, Tess, you are a whore, but you’re my whore. Mine.”

And here, in this dank alley, almost naked and shivering with the cold, the dark truth of those words shatters me and sets my heart free. His, his, his, that’s what I am and what I want to be. His pet, his love, his whore, his heart, his bitch; all or any of those will do.

He pulls his cock out of my cunt saying he wants to come all over my face. Again, I’m on my knees, in the same position I am on the rare occasion I find myself drawn to prayer. He comes in spurts that cover my face and drip down my chin, his come mixing with my tears as I find myself praying that I will always be his.

sex
sexblog
erotica

~ by tesstorn on April 6, 2007.