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My fingers are slowly released from his hungry lips. He takes my hand and slips it between my thighs. I don’t fight him as he forces my fingers to rub against my clit.
“I noticed you have a couple of bracelets.”
“I do.”
“How would you like to earn more?”
I already like where this is going.
“What did you have in mind?”
Mystery Man’s hand lets go of mine—I still keep rubbing my clit anyway—and I feel his fingers slip into my wet cunt with a hard thrust.
“Fuck yes,” I hiss through my pursed lips. “So, what is this game of yours?”
His head moves to the other side of my neck. His lips find my hot flesh. His fingers thrust deeper into me.
“For every naughty thing you do out here on the dance floor, I’ll give you another bracelet. You collect them all, and you can have thegrand prize,” he says suggestively.
That sound of a grand prize sounds rather enticing. More so since I know exactly what thegrandprize is that he’s referring to.
“Aren’t you afraid that someone will see?”
“Should I be?”
I can feel my mystery man’s lips curl upward into a smile against my neck.
My eyes look around the dance floor, and I can barely make out all the bodies around us.
It’s not that everyone is dancing too quickly or too close—which they are—but all the foam floating and settling everywhere that is obscuring everything. I can’t tell if the people in front of me are Sammi and Mysti May or a couple of cabana boys.
Nor can I tell what they’re doing covered in all that foam. They could be giving each other hand jobs, but it would be almost impossible to tell.
It’s pretty fucking awesome, truth be told.
Everyone here tonight could strip down and fuck in some massive giant orgy without anyone being the wiser. I’ve never been in a club-sized orgy before, but that’s no reason to stop me. It could be fun.
Correction, itwillbe fun.
Not only do I bring the party;I amthe fucking party.
“So—anything off limits?” I ask.
My head leans against his chest. I look up at him, but I can’t make out his features.
I know he has facial hair and a strong jawline—because I can feel it against my skin—but that’s it.
Maybe it’s the foam or the booze, but everything is like a giant haze. It reminds me of people on those Netflix crime documentaries who have their faces blurred out to protect their identities.
I don’t really give a shit.
His body is rock hard—like sculpted fucking granite—and his cock is like a foot-long from Subway.
“Off limits?” Mystery Man laughs and slips another finger into my hungry cunt. “I have no limits.”
Honestly, I’m really pleased that I can’t make out this man’s face. To do so would ruin part of the mystery and allure of who he is. His anonymity makes what’s happening between us incredibly fucking hot.
Besides, men always make the most fucked up faces when they’re about to shoot their load down the back of my throat.
