A Party Crasher

George watched Mary having a hotpot party. The spicy steaming hotpot glazed her slender legs with a thin layer of perspiration. So were the other girls, skins shimmering in sweat.

In rage, he dropped his binoculars, put on a mask, ran down the block, climbed 8 floors, and pounded on Mary's door.

"I saw you girls partying in there! It's quarantine time! Social distancing! I'll report you to your college! I'll report you to the cops!"

"No! No police!" A high-pitched voice broke into panic.

"It's okay, Eve..." A soft voice tried to comfort her.

"How did the creep see us? We are on the 8th floor" Roared another.

"Watch your tone! I have video proof!"

George shouted back while his face became crimson. He started to regret his outburst, but now he had no choice but to keep up his superficial anger.

Then, he heard the soft soothing voice again.

"It's okay, Nadia. Calm down. Let me talk to him."

The door opened and Mary walked out. She was tall and slim, with dark shiny eyes and complexion rather pale for an Asian girl. Her lips and cheek were brightly red for just having extra spicy hotpot.

"You are the man who watched me in binoculars, right?" She asked and tilted her head.

And filmed. He thought.

"I have noticed the...Um." She seemed to be searching for words. "That's not the point. I just want to implore you that-that-please don't call the police on us, Mr.-"

"George Saraband. Actually, listen-"

"Anything you ask, but don't call the police, please, Mr. Saraband."

His eyes leered at her face and down her body, lingered along her legs, and rested between her thighs.

A fever surged in his head. His heart drummed in his chest. He had an idea.

"Anything. You said?" The muscles on his face crumbled and twisted. From his pale shocked countenance, he stretched out the most imposing smile he could.

"Yes, yes." She looked away.

"Then come to my place when you are done with your party. I'll delete the footage if you do what I ask."

"Okay, Mr. Saraband."

* * *

"We fu... We have sex first; then I'll delete the footage."

George found himself having trouble saying the f-word in front of Mary.

She was gazing down at her own feet. Her eyelashes had a joyful curve.

"Okay."

"Turn around, hands on the desk."

Chilly air assailed her skin as he striped her shorts and pulled down her underwear.

"Open up your legs, come on." He rubbed her butt and urged.

Mary hesitantly raised her right leg onto the desk. The wooden desk was ruthlessly hard and cold to her bare inner thigh.

She felt him pressing onto her. His belly was soft on her back, and his hairy legs tickled her.

He thrust in. She squirmed and arched her back down. Her juice was trickling down her long thighs. Mary just realized how wet she was.

"You are soaking wet, Mary. Enjoying yourself?"

She nodded, unable to speak.

"Funny. Turns out you wanted it all along."

He went on. Her body was heaving up and down, trembling, perspiring.

Her cheek was flushed but she hardly moaned. Only occasionally, when he hit a particular spot, a spasm of rapture would burst throughout her body, unseal her tightly guarded mouth, and he could hear her gasp.

"Let it out, Mary. Let it out, you horny little girl. Why wouldn't you moan for me?"

Mary quivered when his coarse finger reached her clit and rubbed. Her body was burning and along her spine, a numbing sensation rippled.

"Mm." She whined through her nose.

"Okay, I'll fuck it out of you. I'll fuck you until you open that little shy mouth of yours."

He girdled her around her waist—his large hands sinking into her flat soft belly—belting her against him.

"I'll make you moan like a slut."

He pounded with all his strength. The hard cock plunge all the way through her moist embrace and hit the very end of her cunt.

That was a painful and odd sensation, not pleasant. But the pain itself was exhilarating. Mary felt her mind was blank for a second and she almost gave in. Her arms twitched and her vision blurred. Between her thighs, fluid was streaming out.

He pounded again.

And again.

And again.

Mary gasped, and gasped and gasped, mouth wide opened to an "O" shape.

"Moan aloud!" He commanded and pounded.

"Cao!" She cried out loud.

* * *

Mary lay on her back on the desk. Bathed in the warm afternoon sunlight, her naked sweaty body gleamed with a golden sheen.

"What was that?"

"It was-I cursed in my mother tongue. I'm sorry."

"Ain't that hot!" George grinned.

He reached for his camera, prepared to fulfill his promise of deleting the video. He spied on a college girl in binoculars, blackmailed her into sex, but for God's sake, he should be a man who keep his promise.

"Mr. Saraband."

"Huh?"

She braced her self up. A rosy cloud loomed on her cheek.

"You don't have to delete the video."

His jaw dropped.

"I mean, blackmailers usually keep the leverage and keep blackmailing, don't they? Mr. Saraband."

He turned to her, and she was looking at him with sparkling dark eyes.

He placed his hands on her shoulders—she shuddered— lightly caressing, climbing up her neck, down her back, along her thigh. He stroked her perfect skin, until she started panting and quivering.

Still, she was looking into his eyes.

"Well, Mary." he cleared his throat and smiled lovingly, "Here is the damning footage. If you don't want to me to call the police, you will do whatever I tell you to do."

She smiled and tilted her head.

"Okay, Mr. Saraband."