My drink was empty and I really had to pee. So now that the coast was clear, I crawled out from under the desk and saw Karl Elvis mixing a fresh batch of drinks. Bless this man, the stoker of my fire. He mixed me another shot of fuel and telling him I’d be right back, I wandered off to find the bathroom. What was it, exactly, that made these drinks blue, yet taste like orange? There was enough of a distraction going on elsewhere in the room that I could slip away unnoticed. But could I look away from the distractions long enough to slip away?
I closed the door and flipped on the light. Decisions, decisions. I set my sights on the one on the right and headed that way. My heels click-clacked loudly on the tile floor. I slid my bottoms down and sat, sighing in relief, noticing how even this sounded funny in this vast room.
As I was standing and pulling my bottoms up, the door opened. I gasped at being caught in the act, so to speak. Karl walked in with another blue drink and closed the door behind him. The expression on his face was as if he walked in on a woman in the bathroom frequently. I felt heat rise on my face and didn’t have to look in the mirror to know my cheeks were flushed a bright red.
He put the drink down between the sinks and turned his back to it, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed in front of him. Our eyes met and as I walked toward him, I turned my foot and stumbled.
"Too much to drink or not used to wearing heels?" He asked.
"The tile is slippery." It sounded reasonable.
I paused as I neared him and wondered what Ms. Manners suggests in this particular scenario. I heard a squeal from the other room and shifted my gaze to the door and then back to him. He stood there, face expressionless and eyes animated, not saying a word.
I started to reach around him to grab the drink, suddenly needing it pretty badly. He grabbed my arm midway between my wrist and elbow.
"Have you washed your hands?"
My eyes widened. "Not yet."
"You weren’t going to touch that drink with dirty hands, were you, dirty girl?"
I glanced in the mirror and saw embarrassment send another wave of crimson over my cheeks.
"Then what were you reaching for?"
"Yes… That’s what I thought."
He turned and pulled me along to the sink.
"Wash your hands."
I could have crawled right under the vanity and died. But I washed my hands. I did it slowly and methodically, adjusting the water temperature and watching closely while I scrubbed vigorously. I was prolonging what was coming next. I looked up and saw him behind me now, close to the tub, but watching me.
I turned the water off and grabbed a fluffy blue towel. When my hands were dry, I reached for the glass.
"I don’t think so. Not without some correction first."
I swallowed hard, turned around, and looked up at him.
Before I could get the word out of my mouth, he was speaking again. "On your knees and bend over the tub. And lose the lingerie."
I stood there somewhat stunned.
His next words jolted me into action.
"Lose it your way or lose it mine."
I stepped out of the tap pants and lifted the cami over my head. He tossed a towel onto the floor and I knelt there, bending over the tub, like a good girl. The porcelain was cold and my nipples stiffened. I really needed that drink.
His hand lightly grazed my ass and I shivered. He rubbed a circle on one cheek then popped me hard. The heavy ring he wore felt like lightening every time he hit me, and they kept coming in rapid fire, moving from cheek to cheek. The echo was maddening. My moans escalated into a throaty cry and suddenly there was silence.
I pushed myself to my feet shakily and turned toward him, my eyes searching to see just what was going on. Was it an invitation? Was it a challenge? Did he know he’d made me dripping wet? But his eyes gave nothing away. He shifted his glance downward and behind me.
He nodded toward the mirror and I looked over my shoulder to see my bright red ass. Just seeing it made it burn intensely and I shivered again. I looked back at him.
"Now you can have that drink…"
I stepped to the other side of the bathroom and picked it up. Our eyes met again in the mirror and I took a long sip while he continued.
"But your pretty blue lingerie stays in here."
He opened the door then and stood back while I walked through it.
Like Devil said, none of the characters in this story knew what I was up to here. It's fiction.
This is part of a multi-authored group of stories about the party. For more reading pleasure, see Devil's Pajama Party.