Fiction: Party Games

“Ready?” Tom asked. He had one hand on the inside handle of the door, the other on my stockinged knee. His eyes met mine and I shivered in anticipation.

“Ready, darling,” I replied.

Tom let himself out of the car, then circled around to my side to open the door for me.

I took his arm, grateful for the support. The night was cool and a small breeze swept by. Under my red silk wrap and my black silk dress, my nipples grew hard. The small hairs at the back of my neck stood up and I shivered.

“Nervous?” Tom asked. I shook my head, smiling.

“Just the air,” I said.

There were other couples walking toward the large stone steps to the McMurray’s Summer home. The last party of the season, then we’d all be off to our Winter homes, our schools and work, and the intermezzo required to plan the Winter events. My eyes strained to see what Mrs McMurray -- Jackie -- might have done with the exterior decor to celebrate the end of the season.

Were the party mine, I would have held it at an earlier time of day, when we could enjoy the lasting sunlight, the moods of twilight, and the moon rise over the ocean. Jackie was always one to tip her hat toward our group’s teen gothic years, however, so perhaps that explained the late hour -- 10:30 to 1:30, the invitation had read.

The live band’s music poured out of the open doors and windows, along with the warm and welcoming light. We walked in silence toward the house, both of us anticipating the party and our own little game.

* * * *

“Which triggers do you want to play with tonight?” Tom asked as he selected my outfit. His voice was muffled; he was in my walk-in closet and I was in the bathroom, curling my hair.

“Surprise me, darling,” I called back.

He appeared in the open doorway, my black dress on a hanger in one hand an a pair of heels in the other. I looked at his reflection in the mirror.

“I love that dress.”

“It’s almost too simple,” he said, “but you’re so beautiful, you carry it off every time.”

I laughed, amused.

“But those heels,” I said, “You know as well as I do that we always have to park on their lawn--”

“I’ll carry you across the lawn if it means I can see you in these heels. You never wear them.”

“Because they’re so impractical,” I said, “and painful. You’ll have to carry me back to the car, as well, then into our own home.”

“Please wear them, darling,” Tom said, trying out his hangdog look. I looked at the shoes: the long, slender red spikes descending from thin black leather soles, masses of straps like clouds. Tom had given them to me for my birthday but I suspect they were more a gift to himself than to me.

“I’ll wear them,” I said. He grinned at me, delighted.

“I’ll carry you everywhere, then, and give you a foot massage once we’re home.”

“At two in the morning?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. He nodded enthusiastically.

I rolled my eyes and returned to my toilette. I had only an hour to look like I belonged to the social set we’d be mingling with that evening.

* * * *

The affair was formal, of course, the effect of which was that every man there looked slightly more handsome in their tuxedo and every woman looked slightly more uncomfortable in their dresses. I noticed I wasn’t alone in wearing uncomfortable but sexy shoes.

Jackie was at the door, kissing and hugging every guest.

“Darling!” she said to me, “I’m delighted you and Tom could make it!”

“And I’m so pleased to be here, Jackie,” I said, “It’s hard to believe the Summer’s nearly over and you and Richard haven’t had a chance to play doubles with us yet.”

“Isn’t it awful,” she said, nodding, her face open and innocent, “poor Richard’s ski accident made it impossible for us to do any type of outdoor activity together other than skeet shooting. At least you and I had our weekly get-togethers for tea.”

“And I’m so thankful for that,” I said, “I wouldn’t have survived the Summer without you.”

“Just as I couldn’t have survived Harvard without you, my dear.”

We hugged each other and Tom and I moved inside, allowing Jackie to resume her hostess duties.

“I love it when you make those bald-faced lies,” Tom whispered in my ear as we walked toward the large, open, living area. I giggled. Then he whispered, “Erotik essen.” I blinked.

“Oh, Tom,” I whispered, looking up at him, “did you really just say that?”

“Let’s see if you can keep up the innocent act while you slowly become more aroused with every bite you take,” he said, smirking. I couldn’t help but return his smile; I had, after all, asked him to surprise me.

As if on cue, a server arrived to offer us canapes from a silver tray. Tom took one for himself and one for me.

“Sie jeztz essen,” he said. I took the canape and popped it in my mouth; the trigger gave me no choice. The moment the pastry hit my tongue I felt the warmth begin to creep between my legs.

It was a task, pretending everything was fine. As I socialized with acquaintances and friends, it seemed as though servers were constantly offering small tid-bits of food, specifically so Tom could enjoy my discomfort and building pleasure. While I could theoretically moan in delight over the food, it wasn’t actually good enough to warrant that response; the other partygoers would find it rather odd. They’d most likely talk about my overreaction the next day. The most difficult part, however, wasn’t keeping quiet but keeping still -- the more I ate, the more I wanted to kneel at Tom’s feet and beg him to pleasure me.

At one point, as a small group of us were laughing about Adam Preissel’s story of his hunting dog’s attempt to retrieve Mabel Astinworth’s bathing suit top while she was still wearing it, I realized the two triggers had worked together to get me so aroused that the pleasure of it was trickling down the inside of my thigh. I caught Tom’s eye; he was standing where he could watch me from afar, his face betraying nothing about our game. By this time I was trembling with need but, like him, I was adept at hiding what I was feeling.

He crossed over to me and took my elbow in a gentle grip.

“If you don’t mind,” he said to the group, “I’d like to steal my wife for a moment.”

Everyone laughed or smiled politely as he steered me toward the bar.

“Are you alright, my beloved?” he inquired.

“I’m quite done with canapes and I’m quite sure I shall faint if you don’t take me now,” I said, my voice soft and urgent.

“The party had just begun and so has the game,” he said, “I’m nowhere near done playing with you.”

“I love this game,” I said dreamily as he took two flutes from the bar, “But I’m not sure how long I can play it without everyone here knowing something’s wrong.”

“You mean ‘right,’” Tom said, smiling at me. I smiled back.

“Yes. Oh so right.”

“Tell me,” he said, gazing into my eyes.

“I’m so wet, Tom. It’s sliding down, soaking into my stockings.” I took a deep breath, closed my eyes in an attempt to wrest control of my inflamed passion. “I need some sort of release. Please.”

He handed me one of the flutes of champagne and we raised our glasses to each other.

“Vergnügen,” he toasted. I flinched in anticipation as I took a sip of champagne. The flavor and the bubbles floated atop the sweet sensation of a strong, full orgasm. Tom held my waist as I leaned against him for support, a soft moan escaping my lips.

“Is she alright?” I heard Marcus Englebright inquire.

I opened my eyes and stood upright, doing my best to smile.

“The shoes,” Tom said, “I begged her to wear them.”

Marcus looked from Tom to me, grinning. “On behalf of all men, I apologize for our penchant for women in heels.”

“Apology accepted, Marcus,” I said.

As Marcus and Tom chatted about possible Autumn hunting opportunities in Maine, I sipped my champagne and enjoyed a calm afterglow. The orgasm meant the commands were lifted and now the flavor and bubbles of the drink were a sweet reminder of the fact that I’d just come amidst fifty of the most powerful couples on the East Coast.

I was also acutely aware of the fact that the orgasm had increased the amount of fluid making its way down my thighs. The skirt of my dress ended just below the knees. I hoped I could finish my champagne before I had to visit the powder room.

* * * *

“To signal distress?” Tom asked as he drove the sedan down the treelined road.

“Est ist mir leid,” I said automatically. We’d been through the rules and contingency plans so many times before. Knowing everything by heart, however, did nothing to dampen my anticipation, and the safety check only increased my appreciation of the man I married.

“To tell me the game is over?”

“Spiel est aus.”

“And you trust me,” Tom said, placing his hand on my knee.

“You’re the only one,” I said, covering his hand with my own.

“It will be a good game tonight. I have plans for you.”

A thrill ran through me at his words. I couldn’t help but smile.

* * * *

After refreshing myself in the powder room I found Tom amidst a group of younger men; the boys who would soon have wives who would host their own parties, whether they wanted to or not.

“Darling, you remember John Avery’s Jacob, don’t you?” he said to me as I took his arm.

“Of course!” I said, holding out my free hand for Jacob to press. “And don’t you look just like your father when he was your age. Quite handsome.”

Jacob smiled an easy grin and took my hand briefly before saying, “It’s good to see you again, Mrs Cranshaw.”

“Please, call me Evelyn.”

“If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen, my wife had requested a walk about the garden.”

The boys nodded and smiled, and I nodded and smiled, and Tom guided me toward the open French doors which led out to the stone patio and the fresh air.

“Sie mienen Namen lieben,” he said in a low voice. Another trigger. “Now say it. Say my name.”

“Tom,” I said, and felt a small spike of pleasure.

“Again.”

“Tom,” I moaned. He grinned.

“You do realize I’m going to be begging you to let me orgasm again very soon.”

“I certainly hope so,” he said as he led me back to the party, “And I hope all that begging will be peppered with my name. In fact, I think tonight’s rules include using my name every time you speak to me or about me.”

I sighed happily and said, “Tom -- oh -- I love you.”

“And I love you, Evelyn.”

* * * *

“You and Tom make the sweetest couple. How did you two meet?” Mrs Mira Earns asked me after we air-kissed hello. I hid my reaction to my husband’s name by taking another sip of champagne.

Mira was Brian Earns’ latest trophy wife. While I adored Brian’s previous arm-candy, I didn’t hold any rancor for the latest model. I hoped she was stock-piling his gifts, however, because I didn’t expect to see her two Summers from now.

“I met Tom,” I swallowed at the bite of pleasure, “in second-year German at Harvard. Not the most romantic of stories, I’m afraid. Traveling to Germany with the class did give us a chance to know each other better.”

“I think it’s a cute story,” Mira said. I resisted the urge to ask her how she met Brian. “Do you still practice German?”

“All the time. Tom,” I gasped, “a-and I have a special place in our hearts for the language.” A burst of pleasure flared between my legs and I wanted to run to my husband and beg for another orgasm. Between the trigger and the alcohol I was growing very unsteady on my feet.

“Now that is romantic,” she sighed, “I’d love for there to be that little, unique connection between myself and Brian.”

I wondered just how much Mira had to drink if she was willing to admit that to a relative stranger, even if I was a bit more trustworthy or sympathetic than the other women here.

“I’m sure you’ll find something,” I said, trying to sound like I meant it. I resisted the urge to share more detail about our use of the German language. My desperation was growing and I finally couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m sorry, Mira, but I just remembered something I need to tell-- Tom-- oh!”

Poor Mira, I’m sure she was puzzled, but she smiled politely all the same. I walked as quickly as my shoes allowed toward my grinning husband. He’d placed himself so he could watch me over the shoulders of George Arkin.

“Ah, here comes the lovely lady now,” Tom said. George turned to find me stalking up to the little knot of men. I hoped my face didn’t look as flush as it felt.

“Hello, gentlemen,” I sang, trying to sound lively and happy. I was, truly, lively and happy, but also desperate and horny.

“And me?” Tom teased.

“Oh, hello, Tom-- mmm,” I hid my body’s reaction to his name by kissing him on the cheek. “I need to come,” I managed to whisper in his ear, before standing upright and smiling at the George and his companion, Terry. They stood virtually shoulder to shoulder, as intimate as two gay men could get at a party like this. After my conversation with Mira and the quantity of champagne I’d had, I wanted to recommend the fun of Tom’s party game to these two men. I adored George, with his kind eyes and quick smile. And Terry, his partner, had become a welcome fixture at the Summer parties, with his quick wit and sense of humor.

“Evelyn,” said Terry, stepping forward to kiss my cheek, “The only thing that upsets me about the end of Summer is the fact that I won’t see you for another ten months. Who is going to keep me at peak tennis performance?”

“It certainly won’t be me,” said George, patting his belly, “I much prefer to watch.”

“Yes, and shout, er, ‘suggestions,’” said Terry in a wry voice.

“I was born and bred for management,” replied George, sighing as though it just couldn’t be helped. “Speaking of which, Tom, just how much shouting of suggestions do you think you’ll need to do with Jacob Avery?”

At the sound of my husband’s name I grew weak-kneed and had to lean against him. He drew his arm around my waist, a silent signal that he knew, and was enjoying, what was happening to me.

“Probably as much as I needed when I was his age,” Tom said, chuckling. The two men grinned. I could barely keep my eyes open, now, only able to focus on the heat between my legs. I was so close to orgasm, but couldn’t, not without the trigger.

Terry seemed to notice something was wrong. He said, “It looks like you might need an early bedtime, Evey. You need your rest if we’re going to play one more game of tennis before George and I head for California.”

I forced myself to focus on him and give a little smile, saying, “I just can’t handle late nights like I used to.”

“Isn’t that true of all of us,” George said, “Jackie simply doesn’t want to admit we’re not teenagers anymore.”

“Some of us are actually old, now,” Terry said, nudging his partner with his elbow. George rolled his eyes.

A server strolled past with a tray full of glasses of water and flutes of champagne. Tom stopped him and asked, “Drinks?”

The three of us nodded and Tom handed champagne to the men and took water for us. He handed one of the glasses to me.

“Vergnügen,” he said, raising his glass. Terry and George raised their flutes. We all clinked our glasses. I was afraid to drink. Tom noticed my hesitation and wrapped his arm around me again. I leaned against him and sipped the water. The orgasm was stronger than the last and I hid my face in his shoulder.

“Are you alright, Evelyn?” Terry asked. I could hear the alarm in his voice, but it was all very far away, lost as I was in center of my personal storm of pleasure.

“I do think we might have to leave the party a little early,” I heard Tom say.

I sniffed as I raised my head and turned back toward our friends. I felt happily drained and relaxed, and I wanted so badly to share the secret with our two friends, but I merely said, “I might be coming down with something. The water tickled my throat and I nearly choked.”

“You poor thing,” George said, looking genuinely worried, “You ought to go right to bed. I don’t know why Tom dragged you out.”

“Oh, no, it wasn’t his fault,” I said, “I mean, these shoes are his fault,” I pointed to my feet, “But I certainly wasn’t going to miss the last party of the season.”

“How in blazes are you going to be able to play a game of tennis with me tomorrow after standing around at a party in shoes like those?” Terry asked.

“Perhaps Tom and I shall place wagers,” George said, smiling, “I feel confident the odds are in my favor.”

We all laughed. Tom looked at me and held my gaze. I bit my lip in order to avoid saying, “Thank you for that wonderful orgasm.” There’d be time to say thank you in the car, and time, at home, to show my appreciation in other ways. For now, I had to rely on the silent communication between us.

I turned my gaze to George and said, “I do hope Tom takes you up on the offer of a wager. I intend to win tomorrow’s match. I will be wearing proper shoes.”

“And I have a few, er, sayings, that tend to help her focus on her game,” Tom said, “Now, if you’ll excuse us. It was great seeing you both.”

We all kissed and hugged. I was glad we’d ended the night with two of my favorite people. Tom fetched my wrap for me and we paused long enough to hug Jackie goodbye before we were down the stone steps and walking toward the car.

Tom held my elbow and stopped me by the fountain in the middle of the circular drive.

“Did you have a good evening?”

“I did. What with food, alcohol, frighteningly banal conversations, and multiple orgasms, I don’t think I would have missed this evening for anything.”

Tom grinned and then, like a dancer or a boxer, he moved swiftly and I found myself swept up in his arms, like a bride carried across a threshold.

“Erreichen die Höhe,” he said. I cannot completely describe what happens to my body when he uses that trigger. It has the effect of lighting up all my erogenous zones: my neck and shoulders, my armpits, the insides of my elbows, the skin between my fingers and toes, the backs of my knees, the insides of my thighs, my ass, my pussy, my clit, my scalp. It’s like a dozen tongues of fire and ice dancing all over my skin. A level of pleasure that makes me babble incoherently. I was not aware of my surroundings. I felt the effects of the trigger and I felt Tom’s hands and arms, and nothing else.

The rest of the walk to the car stretched out interminably.

“Niedergehen.”

I came down. Funny he would chose that word to relieve me of the onslaught of sensation, considering an alternative translation was “to become enslaved.” I was breathing heavily, a few tears running from my eyes. My body was exhausted. He set me down and opened the car door for me, and even strapped me in once I was seated.

“Are you alright?” he asked. I nodded. I didn’t trust my voice.

“No need for the game to be over?” he asked. I swallowed and shook my head. We were leaving the party but the game could continue as long as we liked.