Once again, phone written so excuse errors. As an additional note, the build up in this little piece of writing is far too lengthy, but I felt it was neccessary for context. This is a very slow story, so if you are seeking physical action, it may not be of interest to you.
I still refer to her as “the woman at the party,” despite having learnt her name in the days that followed. I’ve chosen to write up this experience not for what it was, but what it wasn’t.
Fantasy often relates to things which could not happen or we don’t truly want to happen. We treat it as the less serious, the less real, the hollow dream. But occassionally moments of fantasy are not for exploring the less real, they’re for seeing the MORE real. By that I mean our imaginations can strip away shallow worldly things in a given moment, allowing us to experience a more “real” version of ourselves and others, free of the riff-raff and boring surrounds, even if it never comes to physical fruition. I find this ability of our imagination to fantasise the “more real” utterly delightful, and it is exactly what occurred between me and the woman at the party.
Of course, I have no idea what she truly thought, whether this moment truly was a shared one as I suspect, but I believe it was and I have written as if it were, which is exactly how I experienced these moments.
—–
A peripheral element of my work life has occassionly involved professional networking, which I wouldn’t so easily cringe at except that the networks in question tend to involve executives, board members, and other corporate sorts. Plenty of fine people hold such roles, but large “club” dinner parties tend to attract more of a… certain type, and not a type I particularly enjoy.
I’ve come to understand that below the highest echelons of corporate personalities (those folk don’t bother coming to such events) there often sits a cut-throat “prestige” ladder amongst those who subscribe to it. Often men in their late 50’s and upward, linked by industry or business partnerships, they form social circles and clubs in which prestige is the currency of value. Business success, money, power are all only valued insofar as it can be leveraged to look good and push you higher on the prestige ladder.
This isn’t the realm of pointless sports cars, that would be seen as childish and overly flashy. This is the realm of holidays to France, Bentley’s and Benz’s, expensive wines and attractive wives. Events like these are opportunities to present your life as just being better than the people around you. Egos are huge and…so are the opportunies to play personalities and politics in order to gain a contract.
This particular evening, several years ago, I was still new to this foreign and slightly disturbing world. It was one of my first events of the sort, having befriended a client who had invited me along, suggesting I use it as an opportunity to get a foot in the door and offer similar work to the director of a partnering company, one with similar needs.
Fortunately, this was a rather aesthetically conservative crowd, so I was perfectly at home in my standard earth tones; brown leather shoes, tan pants, a nice shirt, knitted jumper and blazer. Under advice from my kind new friend’s assistant (that’s a story for another time) I added some heavy cufflinks to make myself “party ready”.
As soon as I entered the hotel event room I began performing my best chameleon impression, ordering a drink that seemed to look at home amongst those I saw in hands, mirroring the amount of smiling and the apparent walking pace of the room. I made my way to the gathered circle in the corner, careful to maintain an unrushed and confident gait. As I reached the small gathering a firm, knowing handshake and exchange of warm grins with my acquaintance confirmed to the gathering that I was, indeed, a friend. Introductions around the circle were simple and fast, only including the men by first names (no mention of a single woman to which there was a 1:1 ration in the group). I made note of the gentleman I was hoping to impress and speak with, though I knew it was only if the opportunity arose.
At first I paid little attention to the various faces around the circle, instead focused on presenting as casually intentive to the back and forth banter about some property acquisition. As I started to find my feet, balancing agreeableness with reservation, looking interested but not captured, I began to take in the rest of the faces around me. A younger group, by the standards of others in the room, only in their early to mid 50’s, though there was evidence of anti-aging mechanics at work including at least two hair colourings and two teeth whitenings. They all presented their wealth in subtly branded formal-ware and heavy metal watches on their wrists. And that’s when I turned my attention to the women.
Almost every individual in the group had a young lady standing beside them, holding their arms, hanging off shoulders, or standing quietly beside and behind their partners. There was an obvious age gap between every single one of the women and the men, at least 15 years.
I scanned each of them, up and down, internally approving of the mix between gorgeous evening gowns and a few semi-long cocktail dresses, all in muted tones. Not a flat in sight, nor a heel under 3 inches. Impeccable make up and hair. But as I was marvelling at the impressive effort all around, something began to occur to me. The men were hardly paying any attention, not to their own partners and not to any of the others. Occassionally one would wrap an arm around a waist, but it wouldn’t last long as they attempted to look interested when one of the group’s top-end-of-the-pecking-order would speak. These weren’t partners. These weren’t even there for the mens enjoyment. They were trophies, no different to talking about their latest purchase or displaying the watch on their wrist.
Between answering the few questions thrown my way and smiling in agreement to the conversation, I was searching the faces of the women one at a time, trying to understand what they were thinking and experiencing. Each face seemed focussed on it’s part to play in the little theatre, smiling at the side or back of their man’s head with big eyes when we spoke, and giving a calm, neutrally cheerful expression as they “listened” to the conversation. That was, until I get to her.
Unlike the others, as my eyes settled on her face she evidently wasn’t pretending to listen to the conversation in that moment. She was looking right back at me somewhat intently. I gave a warm smile toward her and quickly darted my eyes back to the speaker at the time, hoping she hadn’t noticed my methodical visual inspection of the women in the group. A few moments passed and I risked a glance back, almost directly across the circle, to the woman on the other side. Mistake. She was still looking directly at me. Now I was worried. Was she going to mention my unusual behaviour to her partner? Did I need to leave now before things became difficult?
Taking a sip of my drink as cover, I peered through the glass to meet her gaze once again, but this time her face had clearly softened, even the edges of a smile were recognisable on her lips. Not only was I an interesting new person to this little gathering, and one that wasn’t necessarily infected by the egotistical prestige hunting of the other men, but she had seen my slow assessment of the women. And now she was giving the slightest of indicators to make clear that although she had seen, I was safe. She either approved in some way, or maybe was just thankful for something other than the shallow theatre being performed before us.
In all honesty I think on this moment in most instances I would have smiled a thank you in return, and continued with the evening g as if nothing happened. But for some reason I didn’t. Maybe it was the way her slight smile seemed almost cheeky, like she was daring me to do something. Or maybe it was the way the awfully egotistical and worldy banter had worn down my patience. Whatever the reason, I took her our exchange as a challenge and immediately I could sense the lightly intoxicating mood of desire and dominance flow through my body. Though I wouldn’t have thought about it at the time, I know in that moment, as I have otherwise observed, that my pupils would have dilated slightly, the very slight tremor I naturally have in my hands would be gone, my jaw lightly clench, my breathing slowed and deepened, and my mind would clear out of all unnecessary rubbish to fix solely on my desired target.
I didn’t give a warm smile of thank you, instead I let myself give her a possessive, dominant look, slightly wider eyes, a light smile with lips pressed together. I’m told that for most women, the intent of this look is unavoidable. I held her gaze, looking through tinkling, soft brown eyes, right into her mind and soul, searching and prodding. I continued to look into her eyes, well past the point of social comfort, daring her to break away first while also inviting her to continue to look back, opening herself up to me in a sort of visual vulnerability. It felt like minutes but it must have been seconds as her cheeky smile slowly faded and eyes widened slightly, something I had seen before. Simply the loss of concentration on her own appearance as I knew I was drawing her in. Her vulnerability continued to display itself as she could no longer look into just one of my eyes and began flicking back and forth, not being sure where to look. I like to like think she was trying to figure out where I wanted her to look.
I gave her a brief respite by slowly blinking and widening my smile before taking a sip of my drink. I did a very slow sweep of the circles faces, all of them seemed unphased by what had felt like a lightening and thunder power moment in time. They were all still talking, attentive on a story being told, unaware of what had happened. At the same time, as soon as I had released her from her optical bonds, she nervously darted her eyes back and forth around the room and to the floor while take in a breath and sinking into her shoulder slightly.
I looked across in time to see that small movement which caused her collarbone to protrude, a gorgeously delicate line, like it had been deigned by a sculptors ideal interpretation of femininity. I caught her nervous glance once again, ah yes, a very slight movement in her lower lip, she had stopped herself biting it just in time. I ensured she was watching as I began to run my eye over here, occassionally darting back up to her face to give a knowing, reassuring smile.
She wore a dark purple, maybe edging into crimson, evening gown (though I may have the wrong terminology), form fitting and simply elegant with no unnecessary frills. The shoulders were small and wide apart, leaving most of her flesh visible, and turned from the solid purple material into a laced pattern of the same colour on her upper arms which terminated at her elbows. She had long, delicate arms and hands which were now clasped together over a black clutch in front of her.
The neck line seemed the start as a slow curve just below the shoulders, but transitioned into a straight, plunging v-line between her breasts, finally closing at around the same height as the bottom of her perky incredibly well shaped chest. Quite probably a B-cup, they suited her perfectly, entirely proportional to the rest of her figure and held in place in such a way that the inner shape of each was visible. Graduated in to the last ten centimeters of the V was a lining if the same lace being displayed on her arms, adding just enough mystery to want more of what was hidden beneath.
A horizontal piece of the same material ran in a band right around her midriff below her breasts, touching the bottom of the V-line and the giving clear shape to her chest. It caused her breasts to become the feature of the way the dress sat on her body, flowing to and then from, adding to the form fitted waist and hip shaping below. It felt as if, if the material were a little smoother, I could have seen her naval’s shape through the dress. Mid point down her hips the material changed again into a flowing, pleated (? Certainly the wrong word, referring to the curving folds of material in the dress) spread, reaching to the floor.
As if that weren’t enough, the dress had a slit opening up her left leg, with the bottom two parts cut into curved corners, showing even more of her legs, and indeed her black, minimalist heels matching her clutch.
I returned to her face once again, her eyes still occassionally darting to the floor, around the circle and back to me. The smile had returned to her face, pretty but the way she was trying to suppress it also made her look rather cute for such a beautiful, elegant woman. It was evident that little proper attention had been paid to her in some time by the man beside her.
She had almost jet black hair, held in an intricate bun with just a small piece handing from it, dark black eyebrows and eye lashes, I’m not even sure she had bothered with mascara. She had opted for eye liner just on her bottom lid, which at first had caught me off guard, particularly when she blinked, but I was coming to appreciate the style choice. No sign of eye shadow and what I suspected was a very lightly more neutral tone lipstick than her natural lip colour, based on the colour of her clear varnished nails.
Her appearance had been meticulously chosen, she knew how to present herself well, something I very much enjoyed and admired. She had a grace and elegance that simultaneously made me want to watch her dance and tie her down to see how her body responded to my touch. I was still imagining the feel of the soft skin on her leg, internally running my fingers from her feet up the muscle lines of her calves, over her thighs….
I caught her eye again and a broader smile escaped her in response to my….inspection. Her back straightend, shoulders pulled further back, I watched her dress wave slightly as her left foot moved a few inches further outward, widening her stance, but more importantly exposing her leg to the mid-upper thigh. I chose not to take the bait and kept my eyes on her face. I wasn’t just some man to tease and get the attention of, she must have realised this by now. In response I very slightly broke the circles neat inward facing poses and squared myself directly toward her, held my glass in one hand, and put the other in my pant pocket, like I was settling in for a show.
My mind wandered.
Wearing and looking exactly as we were, I had her pressed against the smooth marble of the hotel foyer. All alone in a realm of burning desires. She gave me the same smile as my hand, spread across her bare shoulder and upper chest, fingers just rest on her neck, pressed firmly on her frame, causing her to lean on the wall, hands pressed flat against it on either side of her.
My other hand reached up to hold her face, thumb tracing over her chin and lips before pressing between them. She looked at me with her big brown eyes before readily closing her lips around it and sucking, immediately giving me tingling sensations throughout my body. I allowed myself to let out a gruff, primal sort of moan. She began to move her head to bring sensation further down my thumb and I could feel her tongue flicking back and forth over the end. I wasn’t going to wait anymore, this beautiful creature was mine to take in this moment.
Withdrawing my hands I leant in to kiss below her ear, gently biting in her earlobe as warning for what was about to happen to her. This wasn’t going to be gentle. Both hands found her hips and began pulling the dress upward in small handfuls. Thanks to the open slit, I knew I only needed to pull up a small handful before I could take what I wanted. While play with her dress I pulled back my head to give her that possessive, dominant look and simply looked down at my crotch. She understood and nodded, reaching forward and undoing my belt and pants before pulling out my member. Without a word she wrapped a hand around it and began to tug on it lustfully. Her dress was where I wanted it and again without a word, I crouched slightly, reaching my arms between her thighs and began to stand again, my arms reaching upward on her back. She quickly realised what I was doing and adjusted into my grasp as her legs bent and she was lifted off the ground, her long legs bent and sticking out either side of me, showing off the straight lines from her knees to her toes. Her thighs were pressed against her body, trapped there by my grasp.
The position meant the front of the dress was now bunched up at her waist between her thighs and body, leaving her black panties exposed directly in front of my crotch. She reached around her legs and pulled the thin material aside, clearly not wanting to wait to feel claimed and used. I pressed forward, pinning her back against the wall once more, and pressing my shift deep into her body, her legs immediately quivering in reaction.
Sadly coming back to reality, I looked her in the eye once more. She was looking intently again, likely noticing signs of day dreaming on my face. Noticing that my attention had returned she ducked her head slightly and raised her eyebrows. In a different situation I would have interpreted that as a “what?”. But in this instance I’m quite certain it was a “how was it?” or “what do you think of me?”
I gave my biggest grin yet, letting my possessive look mostly fade to friendliness. My turn to confirm that I had now seen her, and I wanted what I saw. I ensured she recognised my confirmation that I enjoyed her before letting my gaze return to one of possession.
I got the response I had hoped for, she bit her lip properly this time and she sank back very lightly once more, trying to keep her square shoulders and posture confident. The chemistry and fire exchanged between us was now unmissable, I was amazed that no-one seemed to have noticed. I raised the glass to my lips and grinned, like it was more to myself than her and casually looked toward the person speaking, giving her a chance to ruminate on what was happening. Conversation continued. Golf scores, gulf jets, gold standards, and grand plans, none of which was able to draw my attention fully away from the tall, dark haired beauty across from me. I ensured not to look back at how for several minutes, appearing to fully engage in the roaring laughter and discussions, but I had unfocused my eyes on the loud man speaking near her to better take in her movements in my peripheral. She would glance back over at me regularly, waiting to see if I would return to her once more.
It was not lost on me, that I was here amongst the company of shallow, show off men, not truly interested in their persons or words, stuck in a dreary cesspool. As was she. Both not wanting to be there. Both playing a part for other reasons. But there, amongst the group, we had connected and our imaginations had given us opportunity to escape the “unreal” world before in front us, to a more real expression of ourselves.
Sadly, there was no opportunity to speak with her myself. Soon after I had been more directly introduced to the man I was there to see, and during our back and forth the woman from the party had left with her partner.
I still sometimes wonder if she feels out of place.
—–
My inbox and chat are open if you have any feedback or questions. I do appreciate hearing that something of my experiences, and mind, are enjoyed by others.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/nqgpyc/out_of_place_mf_ds_mental_dominance_slow_the