Indecent...Proposal. Jane O'Reilly
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pretty enough for the rest of the male population.
I pushed open the door that led out into the corridor, taking a moment to get my bearings. The hotel was vast, luxurious and surely littered with hideaways designed for those in need of a quick, hard fuck. I wasn’t surprised to hear the door behind me swing open, letting in a rush of noise from the ballroom that was rapidly silenced when it was allowed to close. My breathing sped up, pushing the heavy swell of my breasts against the tight hold of my dress. I have to admit, I liked the way it felt, restrictive and unforgiving. The pressure on my tits made me think of sex, made me want it, which was exactly how I wanted to feel. I tried a door to my left, but the damn thing was locked. I tried another to my right. That one opened. I slipped into darkness. I waited for him to follow me in, then I softly closed the door.
I left the lights off. Something about the darkness excited me. I didn’t want to see. I wanted the oblivion of the blackness, which swirled around the champagne in my system, shutting down some senses, heightening others.
His hands found my waist. Good hands. Strong, firm, unafraid. But I wasn’t there for his hands. I was there for his cock and I found it, my fingers searching out the hard edges of his belt buckle and the small pull of the zip below. I dealt with both without hesitation. ‘Not bad,’ I said, as I slid my palm down his length until I found the heavy weight of his balls. I cupped them, and the air left his body in a rush. ‘Not bad at all. Length is acceptable. Width is...’ Plentiful, for want of a better word.
He laughed. ‘As I said, I’ve had no complaints.’
And he wasn’t going to get any from me. Not when his hands were pulling at my skirt like that, or when his fingers moved inside the feather-light thong that I’d slipped on under my ankle-length dress. Then it was my turn to exhale. ‘I want a fuck, not a grope,’ I told him. ‘Pleasant though this is.’
‘A woman who knows what she wants,’ he said, as he pulled back from me. ‘Who am I to argue?’ I heard the rustle of fabric, the thump of a wallet being tossed to the floor, the snap and tug of a condom, and it was clear that I’d chosen well. Hung and smart. Is there a better combination in a man?
‘Shut up and fuck me,’ I said. ‘The quicker and harder, the better.’
‘I aim to please,’ he said, as he moved back between my thighs. I gathered my skirts at my waist and pulled my thong to the side. A leg hooked over his hip and the head of his cock was tucked snugly against me, a tease that didn’t last long.
I didn’t want foreplay. I wanted the hard, randy thrust of him inside me, the hot breath of a desperately aroused male in my ear, the satisfaction that comes with making a man surrender. And he was fit and anonymous, and I would never see him again after tonight, and I wanted that too. I gripped one muscular buttock and squeezed. My other hand skated up his jacket, up the smooth satin fabric of a tuxedo lapel. I pulled him close, let him feel how hot I was, that my cunt was already wet.
He resisted, but not for long. I yanked down the bodice of my dress, let him feel the warm, heavy weight of my tits pressed against him and with a groan, he shoved his cock inside me. ‘Naughty boy,’ I whispered in his ear. ‘Look at you, fucking the maid of honour up against a wall.’ His ragged breathing excited me, as did his thickening cock. I rocked my hips, clenched hard against his length.
I needed this. I needed to move on from the two people in the ballroom on the other side of the corridor. I needed to feel in control, I suppose, because I had never been in control with them. You’ve still got it, I told myself. You’re still the same hot blonde you were before. You can still have any man you want.
His hands found my waist, and he started to move. There was no hesitation, no caution. ‘Someone might catch us,’ he said, as he pounded into me. His hands moved up to grab my tits. ‘Someone could walk in here at any moment, see you with my cock in your pussy and your tits in my hands.’
So that was his game. Everyone has one. The trick is to work out what it is. ‘Is that what you want?’ I slid a hand between us, put pressure on my clit. ‘You want someone to catch us? You want someone to see?’ But he didn’t answer. Instead, he slid a hand under the knee I had hooked over his hip, pushed it higher. The wall held me up, the wall and one spike heel and my hands on his shoulders. He’d been right about the size. I had no complaints. But that didn’t mean that I had nothing to say.
I stopped teasing my clit and started to rub it, and then I started to get loud. If he wanted to get caught, then so did I, and the louder I shrieked the harder he fucked me. I imagined the whole reception sitting there listening to me getting pounded against the wall, and the thought was deliciously exciting.
‘I’m coming,’ he said. ‘I’m coming so hard.’
His fingers dug into my leg as he slammed into me, fast and deep. I rode out his orgasm with one of my own, sharp enough to make me silent, which was a pity, though I tried not to feel too put out. It had been a long time since I’d come with anyone but Victoria or Paul, and it was good to know that while my heart might be broken, my pussy certainly wasn’t.
It was about that time that the door opened and the light flicked on, and Scott Smithson walked into the room.
So that’s how I ended up where I am now, pinned to the wall by the cock of a man I don’t know, with Scott Smithson, a man I most certainly do know, staring at me in that judgemental way of his. ‘Scott,’ I say, blowing the hair out of my eyes as I fight to get my breath back. ‘Do you mind? I’m a little busy here.’
I stay where I am, with my dress around my waist and my tits exposed and a still hard cock buried in my pussy. I would move, but my legs aren’t steady and my new friend doesn’t seem in any hurry to pull out.
‘I can see that,’ says Scott, his voice low and angry. ‘Fortunately, the disco was loud enough to block out most of the noise.’
‘That’s disappointing,’ I reply, letting my leg slide to the floor. Two feet are definitely better than one, and I need two right now. You see, Scott Smithson is my best friend’s brother. We don’t particularly like each other. Never have, if I’m honest. It’s hard to like someone who thinks that they’re perfect and treats everyone else like an inferior species. ‘If you came here to lecture me, can you get on with it? I feel like a dance. How about you?’ I glance at my companion. He catches my eye for a second, then pulls out of me, quickly turning so that his back is to Scott. Fine. I’ll let him have that one. I wouldn’t want to deal with a used condom with an audience either.
‘You’re the maid of honour,’ says Scott. ‘You’re supposed to be supporting the bride, not screwing one of the guests.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I reply. ‘I thought it was traditional for the bridesmaids to get laid at the wedding. Or does that only apply to the best man?’
I run my hands over my hair, which is sticky with hairspray. ‘Come to think of it,’ I continue, ‘the best man has been looking down my dress all day. Maybe I’ll go and find him, see if he fancies a blowjob.’
‘The best man is married,’ Scott says coldly. ‘I refuse to believe even you would stoop that low, Amber.’
‘What’s up?’ I taunt him. ‘Jealous?’ I put my hands on my dress and am about to pull it up when I catch sight of something that makes me pause, something so unexpected that it takes a moment to accept that it’s happening.
Scott Smithson is staring at my exposed breasts. His blue eyes are dark, and there’s a flush highlighting the sharp line of his cheekbones.
It’s the same reaction I’ve had since I grew them at fifteen. But I’ve never seen it from Scott Smithson. I find myself watching him, curiosity swelling inside me. This is something new, something unexpected, and it seems all the champagne I’ve drunk has made me reckless. ‘Are you looking at my tits, Scott?’ He swallows as I smooth my hands over the curve of my breasts, then test the