The Party

It started with chilled champagne, vintage and poured over ice in a crystal coupe because I like to be on the right side of wrong. I was already dressed when the car came with a slit of silk trailing up my thigh and my dress clinging to me like it had secrets to keep. My fully fashioned nylons stitched tight to my suspenders and heels sharp enough to make grown men whimper. I gave you a time. A postcode you didn’t recognise. An outfit that wasn’t negotiable and I told you: don’t be late.

The location? Discreet and gated. Everyone understands the number one rule here, pleasure is priority and never ask questions.

We met Cath at the gates, exactly as arranged. She was waiting beneath the lantern light, her long hair gleaming like a promise and she was wrapped in something dangerous and dazzling. She grinned when she saw us, slipped her arm through mine and just like that the night already belonged to us.

Music pulsed low like a heartbeat as we walked in. I was wearing a smile like sin and Cath was at my side, with glitter caught in her golden hair and a glass already in her hand. She was every inch the accomplice. We were both radiant, reckless and unbothered by the eyes that followed us across the room.

There is smoke, perfume and velvet bodies everywhere. I was greeted with glances and offers but I don’t submit to invitation, I choose. This is the kind of place where the lighting is low, the music is lush and the air smells like something sweet that’s definitely not from the bar. A glass was placed in your hand before you even said hello. Everything tastes a little better when you stop asking questions.
You sipped.
I disappeared.

You could see me across the room laughing, dancing and pressed up against beautiful people with wild in their eyes. A woman kissed my neck while I sipped my drink. Cath was nearby, her laughter wrapping around the music. You watched and you wanted in. I danced with power between my thighs and wickedness in my smile. I let hands explore only what I allowed and stopped time with a single look.

You danced. Or something like it. I saw you loosen and the glow rise in your skin. The music got under your ribs. Someone passed you a drink, you looked at me. I nodded once. Brave boy.

Later, I pulled you into a corner and we were up close, not for sex but for mischief. You knelt in the corner while I slipped off my heels, legs parted and eyes half-lidded from champagne and sin. I let you kiss my stockinged thigh. I made you hold my heels while I changed and then I let you lie with your head in my lap while two strangers told you how lucky you were.

You were lucky.

You were mine in that kaleidoscopic blur of basslines, hedonism, champagne spilled on skin, lipstick smudged by laughter and bodies melting into each other without shame. Cath was there too, with a flash of blonde hair caught in the sunrise as the night began to unravel.

You saw what it’s like when no one’s pretending anymore.
When the rules don’t exist.
When pleasure is the only language anyone speaks.

And when the sun started to rise and everything felt quiet and surreal, I took your hand and said
“You did well, my darling. I might just bring you again.”