The Party

Was I sure? Of course I wasn’t sure, but I needed the money. I blushed and smiled awkwardly as I entered the room and some of the guys started whistling and commenting. It was all nice, no jeering or anything. Yet. All just like about how hot I was or how cute. Some of the girls even said they loved my outfit.

So I took my clothes off, trying not to spread my legs or bend over too much. It’s so silly how concerned I was about not showing them too much, in hindsight. Silly and shameful, considering what I ended up doing and saying.

“Get on up there, girl!” It still sounded like friendly encouragement. It didn’t sound mean at all. So I smiled again and climbed up on the table, hesitantly spreading my legs. For the record, I’d never done anything like this before. I’d only ever posted and sold pictures online. I wasn’t prepared at all.

I wasn’t prepared for what it would do to me.

Everyone was just kind of hanging out, casually watching, snacks and drinks at hand. I swung my hair over my shoulder and bit my lip in a way I hoped was seductive. When I reached between my legs I was kind of mortified by how wet I was already. I’d assumed I’d have to warm up a bit first.

A few people hotted and whistled again, everyone was smiling. It was a very friendly atmosphere. It was easier than I expected to start rubbing. I started rubbing my clip firmly, and it wasn’t long before I reached my first edge. I hovered right on the precipice of orgasm, before moving my fingers down and slipping them inside myself, letting it pass.

It only took a few more edges for me to slip into the flow of it, to lose sense of myself and my surroundings. Maybe around the fifth edge, the tone seemed to change.

“Oh my God,” a voice suddenly interrupted my meditation. “Look at her rub that thing.” The girl laughed to her friend, who laughed back.

I don’t know what I did, but I must have made some sort of noise. I have this complex about women disliking me, disapproving of me, thinking I’m a disgusting slut. It burned through me and made me ache. She must have heard, her eyes went wide and she laughed again, harder.

“She likes that!” This from the other side of the room. I could feel my whole face turn bright red and hot. “Look at her blushing, oh my God!” The voice was absolutely gleeful. I wanted to get down, I wanted to run. I wanted that money. I wanted to keep rubbing.

So I closed my eyes and keep rubbing. It didn’t keep out the voices, of course.

“Rub your nipple, girl!” Someone called out. As I obeyed, I couldn’t help but let out another pathetic whimper.

“Oh my God!” Someone laughed. “The bitch takes direction!”

“Hey, don’t call her that!”

“Nah, man, I think she likes it.” I heard fabric shifting and suddenly the voice was much closer. “Don’t you,” The voice hissed in my ear. “Bitch.”

I was so many edges in I’d lost count, that’s my excuse for what I did. I told the voice “Yes.” The whole room erupted in laughter. I got to the edge so fast and so unexpectedly I had to yank my hand clean off. My hips raised, despite my best efforts, to fruitlessly hump the air.

“Wow, she loved that!” Someone shouted over yet more laughter.

When I reached down to touch myself after the edge had passed, I almost cried at how wet I’d become. I was dripping down to my ass. After yet another edge, when I had to pull my hand away again, someone shouted “That’s 25!” 25 edges? Was that it? I felt so dizzy, so turned on, so swollen… surely it had to be more.

At this point I’d opened my eyes again, and watched as someone kneeeled down in front of me. The worst part of all this was that no one was even masturbating. If they’d been touching themselves, it would have made it more bearable. But they were all just watching, hanging out, chatting when they weren’t looking at me. The were looking at me less and less, actually, like I was a fucking centerpiece and not a human being.

To my horror, I got wetter.

The girl kneeling in front of me smiled as she watched my fingers pumping in and out of my pussy. She raised her eyes to meet mine and winked. Then she went back to watching.

“I bet you’d like a nice, big orgasm right now, wouldn’t you?” She asked me. Well, she asked my crotch. “Wouldn’t you, bitch?” She savored that last word, I could tell.

Despite myself, I whimpered a soft, “Yes, please.” I was pretty far gone by this point.

“Beg for it.”

I begged so fast your head would spin. I begged loudly, explicitly, and desperately.

“Please, may I come, please. Please, may this bitch come. This bitch needs an orgasm so bad.” You get the picture. I’m pretty submissive, but this wasn’t a scene, so it was pretty embarrassing.

“Hmmm,” she seemed to pretend to think. “OK. You get a nice, big, ruined orgasm.” She laughed and stood up. She leaned over me and stared down into my eyes. But she didn’t touch me. They said no touching. “Thank me, bitch. And ruin it.” She straightened up and walked away to stand with her arms crossed.

“Aaaaah!” I yelled. I actually yelled. Something deep inside me told me to obey. I reached the next edge quickly, sliding my fingers wildly through my slippery cunt. As much as I hated it, as soon as I felt that first contraction, I yanked my hand away.

I yelled again. Everyone cheered. I’m not kidding. They laughed and cheered. My hips lifted clear off the table as I humped fruitlessly, pathetically. I actually started to cry. I heaven in huge breaths of air, sweat shining on the skin of my breasts. Finally, the contracts stopped, and my hips fall back to the table.

“Thank you,” I gasped. I couldn’t believe I was doing this, but I actually thanked her. “Thank you for letting this bitch ruin her orgasm.” Then I collapsed.

The next thing I knew, the hostess was helping me up, helping me back into my clothes. The worst thing was how normal everything wasAfter. Everyone was just talking and laughing to each other like before. A few people smiled and turned at me. Would it have been better if they’d been cruel? I have no idea. It just felt very strange.

Do I regret it? I made a lot of money that day. Would I do it again? Well, I can’t stop thinking about it.