No, stay here but go beyond flirting

The warm feel of air playing across your ear as he whispers excites you. You take his hand, but then instead of letting him lead you away, you pull him in closer. You press yourself against him so that he can feel your trim, tight little dancer's body, barely contained in your costume. "Why go anywhere?" you ask.

You reach down and discover that his dick agrees with you.

"Mmm," "Christian" says, turning it into a growl, before he tilts his head and starts kissing you. Your lips lock, tongues slipping into each other's mouths. He grabs your firm ass, squeezes both cheeks, then lifts and thrusts you into the darkened corner of the room. Here you are simultaneously secluded and not: anyone could walk by towards the bedrooms or bathrooms at any moment and see you, but as long as people are in the main part of the living room/kitchen you might not be noticed.

The din of the other partygoers fades into the background as Christian's hands and mouth light your body on fire. He carefully strokes your bare legs, intrepidly exploring the V of fabric tucked between your thighs. Meanwhile, he breaks off the kiss with you, looks you in the eyes, then begins kissing down your neck. Nuzzling you, he makes it to your cleavage. He grips your breasts with his hands, massages and moulds them as much as your bodysuit will allow, thumbs the nipples just hinted at by the meshwork on the top.

Aching with need now, you push him off you. "I thought Christian Grey liked it rougher than this?" you whisper the challenge to him.

"Christian" replies, "You're right—you definitely haven't earned such tenderness from me yet." He leans closer, grabs your shoulders, and presses you to your knees. "So earn it."

You don't have to be told twice. You unzip his pants and negotiate his semi-stiff member out of his boxers. You barely manage to avoid uttering the stereotypical, "It's so big" but can't stop your eyes from widening instinctively. Hopes that your mask might have concealed this reaction are dashed when Christian grins and says, "I know, right?"

Then he pushes your head against his groin, forcing you to take in his strong, masculine scent. Your entire body reacts to this, and your pulse starts to race. You know that from this angle you're behind a sofa, so if anyone walks by or looks, they'll just see "Christian" apparently standing talking to a wall. Still, the possibility that people could walk over and discover you turns you on on top of the thick cock in your face.

You kiss the base of his shaft and his balls, then you lick the length of his member up to his glans. Lavishing it with attention, you make sure that you coat the entire thing in your saliva. Still not satisfied, you spit onto his cock, watching with approval as the gob of white-clear saliva, almost as nice and dirty as cum, spreads across the taut pink-red skin of his cockhead. Sensing Christian's growing impatience, you take the base of his cock in one hand and then take him into your mouth.

You begin to bob up and down like the dirty girl you're always trying to convince yourself you can be. "That's it," Christian grunts. "Take it. Take it, my little kitty-cat slut. Suck me off and show me you deserve a reward."

Surrendering to the moment, you try to let yourself slip into the mindset of your role. You let the rest of the party recede, and in your mind you imagine yourself as Christian Grey's pet, permanently clad in this costume, always on duty and ready to service him with your body. You imagine yourself putting your dance talents to more erotic uses, entertaining him and his guests—when he isn't fucking you senseless. The fantasy is almost as intoxicating as the taste and smell of "Christian's" cock.

Apparently unsatisfied so far with your progress—or maybe just eager to continue asserting his dominance—Christian takes your head in his hands. Thus immobilizing you, he begins to fuck your face in quick, eager strokes. You almost sputter and **** at this affront; you've never had a guy just grab you and face-fuck you. But the way he's holding you, the way he's using you, is so hot. You realize now this is what you've been looking for: a partner who takes and takes what he needs from you before giving your body any release.

His cock slides out of your throat and mouth one last time, a long string of saliva-and-pre-cum connecting the two of you. You giggle, look up and make contact with his piercing blue eyes, and snip the string. Then you grab his cock, start stroking it mightily, your hand moving up and down the shaft almost in a blur. He grunts, so close to coming—but you won't have any of that, not yet. Still stroking, you suck on balls.

"Fucccck, I'm so close," Christian says, barely able to restrain his volume. Fortunately, the party is now loud enough and raucous enough that he could probably scream it at the top of his lungs and no one would notice anything out of the ordinary. "Get ready to swallow this, little kitty. I want to see the entire load on your tongue. You better not spill a single drop."

"Mmm, I won't. I puurrrrrr-omise." And you go down on him again, mouth sucking irresistibly, irrevocably, on his glans.

He groans and spasms and the thick jets of jizz start shooting out into your mouth. But you're prepared for it, for the gagging sensation as his cum bypasses your tongue and pours directly into your throat, its sticky warmth causing it to slow down and coat your esophagus rather than drip right into your stomach. You keep the secondary bursts in your mouth, feeling them pooling on your tongue, while his cock twitches once or twice more.

You pull away and open your mouth, displaying his load as promised, hoping your white-coated tongue meets with your master's approval.

"Very nice," he says.

You stroke his shaft gently now, and he guides your head back on to him so that you can perform some clean up before tucking him away. Aside from some saliva and cum that you have to wipe off your face, there's no evidence you just blew a guy in Nina's apartment. You wonder if she would be happy for you or a little bit mad—or maybe both.

Still on your knees, you look up at "Christian" and contemplate where the night might take you, singularly or plural, next.