The Dinner Party – 2

Isabel ate her strawberries in silence. The table had completely returned to normal. It had been cleared by one of the Mase’s many staff, and even the wine stain was gone. The conversation had reverted back to gossip and rumour: whose business was doing well, who was leaving for the home country, which school was best for international schooling. Isabel pretended to listen, but her mind was still trapped at the moment when Carmen’s face grew still and her body slumped, stated, against the white cloth.

Moreover, Isabel couldn’t get over the fact that each of these seemingly conservative, middle-class couples had sat and silently watched what Isabel considered to be, at the very least, an intimate moment between a husband and wife. Now they were acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Worst yet, the uncomfortable twinges between Isabel’s legs hadn’t abated at all. She could still feel herself oozing all over the back of her dress. She decided that now – while everyone was busy with desert and coffee – was a good time to find a bathroom and see what could be done about it.

“Could you tell me where your bathroom is?” she asked Carmen.

“Oh, it’s back into the house, though the salon and to your right. Shall I come with you?”

“No…no. It’s fine. I’m sure I’ll find it on my own.”

“Are you sure?” Carmen asked, standing up.

Isabel felt a moment of panic. She had absolutely no desire for company or for having to discuss her state of disarray. “No,” she said, rather too loudly. “No. I’m absolutely certain I’ll be just fine. Thanks anyway.”

She stood up, backed away from the table as gracefully as she could and made a rather awkward sideways exit into the darkened living room. It wasn’t hard to find the bathroom; it was through a door in the small hallway that connected the living room to the kitchen.

Once inside, she switched on the light and turned to lock the door, but there was no lock, so she closed it firmly and stood with her back to the mirror above the sink, trying to survey the damage. It wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. If she kept standing up, and let it dry, the stain would not be noticeable. Her panties, however, were another matter. They felt sticky and horrible between her legs.

Isabel reached beneath her dress and stepped out of them. They were very brief, and silk. She filled the sink with water and began to rinse them out. If she rolled them in a towel to get the excess dampness out of them, they’d dry very quickly.

As she washed them, her mind kept creeping back to the earlier scene at the table. She shook her head and tried to think of day-to-day things, but the sound of the slaps against bare skin and Carmen moaning her way to orgasm kept echoing in her head. When she looked up at herself in the sink’s mirror, she was sweating and flushed. The need to touch herself, to be rid of this overwhelming urge was so great, it was almost impossible to bear. Perhaps if she just gave herself an orgasm, she’d feel less trapped, less disassociated. It wouldn’t take her long.

Pulling up the hem of her skirt, she thrust a hand between her legs, bracing herself against the wall with the other. Her fingers were cool and wet and the shock of them against her burning pussy made her shiver. She bit her lip so as not to make a noise and began to work with serious concentration. The images of the evening flooded back into her mind, and this time she didn’t stop them. Isabel closed her eyes and pushed her fingers between the slick lips of her cunt, grazing her clit over and over with her fingertips and teasing them into her hole with every pass.

She imagined herself on that table, in Carmen’s place. It wasn’t the audience that excited her; it was the sensation, the vulnerability, the sting and the hot flush. She was halfway there.

“May I be of some assistance?”

The voice made her jump and her eyes flashed open. She’d half expected Carmen to come knocking at the door to see if she was okay, but she hadn’t expected Gilles.

He closed the door behind him before she had a chance object. He stepped behind her quickly and engulfed her, pushing her hand out of the way, replacing it with his own.

“My God,” Isabel stuttered. “This…this…this isn’t right.” But even as she said it, she felt a new flood of juice seeping out around his thick, rough fingers.

The hand that was not busy pushing its way into her swollen cunt covered her mouth. “Can you smell her on my hand,” he whispered. “Do you like it? Just her smell alone is enough to make me come.”

Isabel whimpered and inhaled deep. She could indeed smell the cloying, sweet scent of another woman on his fingers. Moaning, she parted her lips and tasted the skin of his hand, revelling in the rich, musky taste.

“She likes you,” he panted into her ear as he began to fuck her with two fingers. “She wants you to stay. And I want what she wants, always.”

She let her head fall back against his chest and felt the faint spasms begin.

“Stay. Will you stay?” He thrust another finger inside her and pushed her over the edge.

“Yes,” Isabel moaned. Her voice muffled by his hand, by Carmen’s scent, by her own lust.

She twitched against him, repeatedly, like marionette with tangled strings. His hips were pressed against her ass, his hard cock upright and nestled in the cleft. She couldn’t stop coming. His fingers curled forward, brushing her g-spot and she convulsed, the muscles of her passage walls clamped down hard, like an iris shutting, and ached around his fingers.

“Do you want my cock?”

Isabel shook her head. “No…please…enough,” she gasped.

“Later, then,” he said.

He slowly pulled his fingers out of her. In the mirror, she saw him raise them to his mouth and suck them clean. Isabel stood trembling as the blood flooded back into her muscles, twitching as the little aftershocks raced through her body. It was all she could do not to collapse in a puddle on the floor.

Gilles looked down into the sink at the white silk panties floating in the water. “Don’t bother with those. You won’t need them around here.”