Party Games .4

1

Watching him disappear towards the cavernous kitchen where the bar was set up, my breathing eased a little. What the hell was this and why had I got so uptight when he approached me? I wanted him, no question but that was all. There was nothing there that hadn’t been done before, time over and again, so why the stress? Emily bobbed up in front of me out of the melee of dancers, ‘Looks like you might be needing this later’. She ran her hand distractingly up my thigh, slid something into my trouser pocket, gave me one of her weird, half eyed looks and was gone. Emily was one of those annoying hyperactive rich kids who think life is one continuous social occasion but in her own erratic way she had been a good friend in bad times. Werewolf boy returns with a bottle of some gaudy looking pink liqueur with a huge ear to ear grin lighting up his face. ‘Look what I found! Someone had tried to stash it under an ice bucket in the corner’. I couldn’t help but be amused by the how the giddy delight at his find contrasted with the studied cool of his approach moments ago. ‘It looks perfectly disgusting…’, his expression sunk, ‘…it’s perfect, let’s find somewhere to enjoy it shall we?’. Sliding my arm around his shoulder I indicated the staircase and we pushed our way upwards through the throng of bodies. A long landing led off the gallery receding back into the house, its far end obscured in darkness. ‘Looks promising…’, his chuckling laugh and the clink of glasses called the decision.

The corridor kinked right at the end into a smaller square landing at the top of a narrow backstair. There were two doors, one slightly ajar with flickering light from inside throwing shadows onto the near wall. I pushed it open tentatively. A large book lined study, obviously having been recently vacated by some of the guests. A fire still burned in a black marble fireplace. Bottles and glasses were left half drunk scattered around the room. On the huge desk they reflected the candlelight and the fire. A spacious bay window was swagged and hung with heavy dark velvet drapes that pooled onto the polished floor, there were high wingbacked armchairs and a low slung sofa fronting the fire. The thought crossed my mind that I couldn’t have written a more perfect setting myself. I made the doormans’ decorous gesture to enter. ‘Well, it’ll do’, and turned the key in the huge rim lock. ‘I can’t very well call you wolfboy so maybe we start with some proper introductions?’, ‘Call me what you like’, he was clumsily pouring significant measures of the liqeur into two heavy cut glass whisky tumblers. Taking one for himself he slumped into the corner of the chesterfield, wriggling back into the cushions he pulled back the wolf face cowl of his costume. His expression was the same wicked curl of a smile he had given me at the station, bright eyes fixed me over the rim of the glass as he took a large gulp. ‘Ok, your way then’, I said ‘I’m Joshua, but no need for full Sunday names so if you prefer I will allow you to call me Josh.’ He was stretching out arching his back.

I watched him as he pulled the zipper slowly down, peeling open the suit. He was naked under its’ dark fur, creamy white skin, velvet smooth over the tensed muscletone of his midriff.

Taking a swig of the tacky pink stuff my tongue recoiled at the sickly sweet viscous liquid and a medecinal aniseed warmth burnt down my throat.

I moved over him, straddling his limbered form. This was his game and I realised that was what had thrown me. He was in control. His face looking up at me, ‘You can call me Marcus’, his words came on a single breath, a hand snaked inside my shirt and down under my belt. His head fell back, eyes lidded and a delicate moan left his lips, ‘I knew you were hung’. Long fingers were around me, with barely any contact working lightly around the head and down. His legs were crooked behind me the heels in the small of my back pulling me in like an anenome. The action of his hand on me was unbearable and I focussed on my own self control. ‘You like that too much’, withdrawing his hand he disengaged and hauled himself back over the cushions on the arm. Slowly, watching me, he pulled his costume open further revealing a curved, already hard cock pressing into his lower abdomen. The glans were dark, swollen, glistening wet. A clean thick shaft, smooth down to tight shaven balls that rose and fell in response to their sudden exposure. I took my turn to tease him and traced a fingertip along the underside, lingering under the head with a gentle flicking motion. His breathing quickened. I manipulated him with a slow deliberate stroke feeling him swell and thicken, going quicker for a moment, forcing him to hold back. My other hand ran across his stomach, lightly around his side and onto his chest. The cut of the muscles were beautiful, lean, curves into angles in perfect proportion.

 

Turning the tables on him was easy. I moved quickly, pinning him down with one hand on his chest while the other skinned the wolf suit below his waist taking his arms behind him. Knees quickly into his elbows he was secure under my
weight. Pausing, seeing his eyes widen I waited to enjoy the moment and took another drink rocking back slightly on my haunches. ‘You’re mine now Marcus’.

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