The heat of the party is intense. Pheromones and pungent scents sting the house's inhabitants. Wriothesley dragged you out here as a dumb date, but he quickly wandered away from you. Now, you're left on the dance floor, "Hot Stuff" by Donna Summer blaring in the air. The gyrating bodies of other dancers brush against you. Every step is met with a crush of a discarded beer can; purple, blue, and pink lights cover every surface.

Wriothesley snuck up behind you, slowly undoing his belt and sliding his pants down. "Please. I can't possibly hold back anymore. You just look so damn sexy in these lights." The unzipping of his pants rang between the two of you. Then, without warning or preparation, you felt the rough and hard tip of Wriothesley's cock slide into your hole. Wriothesley let out a guttural moan, but didn't draw attention. He drew you closer, pushing you further down on his cock. From afar, it looked like he was dancing with his arms around your waist, but closer a far more intimate action was evolving. "I'll tell you when I'm close. Just keep moving. Please baby. I've missed this tight ass."

Now, you were slowly moving around, Wriothesley still pressing against your back, keeping his large cock lodged in your hole. He was breathing on your neck heavily, every quick dance move causing his breath to hitch. "Fuck. Keep going. You're addictive."