1. I really want to get laid.
2. But I can’t have anything serious with Cute Master and Pretty Slave.
3. But I’m not looking for anything serious anyway.
4. So maybe we can fuck even though I wrote them a breakup letter.
I kept wanting to text them and find me a loophole, but I hadn’t. When I walked in, though, and saw Pretty Slave in what was only a little bit of a cat costume—fishnet bodysuit, long black skirt, cat ears—I asked her before she’d even finished making me an apple pie shot.
“(Cute Master) told me you’d say that as soon as you saw me. He said we have to resist!”
I changed into my angel costume again, this time with naked boobs. I left my undies on because I felt a little self-conscious about the butt plug, pretty as it was. As soon as Cute Master saw me, his eyes lit up in an amused/hungry way and I knew there was a chance that I’d get what I wanted.
It was a small party and it started, as these things often do, with a Beatles sing-along. Pretty Slave came over and sat with me on a chair (they have these circular chairs that are almost as big as loveseats) and snuggled with me—there’s really nothing I could do to resist her. During “Eight Days a Week,” she smacked my ass in time to the clapping parts. Draped over the back of the chair in my angel wings, holding a glass of wine and getting spanked, I felt like a painting from one of my Art History textbooks, but naughty. Angels gone wild.
Sidenote: It was at this moment that I noticed a paddle hanging on the wall—not the regular fun kind, but the kind with Greek letters on it—I realized, everybody, that I’d fucked a frat boy, and I liked it. (The lesser-known Katy Perry song…) Pause to feel the judgment of the younger, more punk-rock me, and move on.
We sang, we danced, we snuggled some more. Cute Master was standoffish at first, but then he got all cuddly again. He was sitting next to me while we were both leaned up against the bottom of one of the chairs, smushing me in a nice warm proprietary way when he said:
“(Pretty Slave), I’m gonna kiss her. Is that okay? Apparently she’s been dying for me to kiss her.”
She approved, and then he kissed me hard, pressing me back into the chair. He kisses just the way I like, emphatically like a teenager, but commanding like a man. OH beard-burn, I’ve missed you.
In front of the other party guests (At least one of whom seemed a little freaked out, sorry to her!) he took my nipple in his mouth and Pretty Slave took the other, and I collapsed in ecstasy under them, exhaling an OH! of pleasure, rapturous.
Then I pushed PS onto her back and kissed her, running my hand over the front of her shirt and finding her clit, rubbing it first a little too hard and then finding the right pressure, then stopping to whisper to her that they’d better check on their guests.
Once she’d gotten everybody situated, she lay back down on the floor with me and cuddled. The mix that was playing was hers, and pop songs kept coming on. One of the best parts of the night was lying on the floor with her and giggling/rapping my way through T.I.’s “Whatever You Like,” which was fitting, and (unsurprisingly) one of my favorite songs.
Next: I fuck myself in their bed, then them, then myself, then them again.