Gravity

Amy's already been barely able to hold on for several minutes, and she's only just made this bet.

It was a really, really, dumb bet to make, in retrospect. She should have just taken the inevitable Frigidity Point and run off the toilet.

But instead, here she is, being led through the manor by Drake to a busy room full of chatter, dancing, and revelry.

Drake hands her a glass of wine.

"I thought this might help with your nerves." He offers.

Amy takes it, and takes a sip. It does feel like it helps, actually.

Her sphincter spasms, struggling to hold onto the hundreds of thousands of swimmers desperately trying to burst through.

Drake guides Amy to meet a new friend.

"Freddie! Glad you could make it. This is, err, Amy, right?" Drake still is having fun pretending he can't remember Amy's name for sure.

"A pleasure." This posh young white man in a tuxedo takes one of Amy's hands and kisses the back of it. "You look quite exquisite tonight, I must say."

"Thank you." Amy blushes.

Her sphincter spasms again.

"I take it that you and Drake have only recently become acquainted?" Freddie asks politely.

"That's right, we've only just-" Amy begins.

"Just over an hour ago. Upstairs in the drawing room. Did her up the butt." Drake is grinning from ear to ear.

Amy turns the brightest red she's ever turned in her life. When Freddie sees from Amy's reaction that Drake wasn't joking, he raises his eyebrows.

"I see. I recognise you now. One of the new strip poker players, eh? Low savings account, and low self-respect. Drake's favorite type." Fraddie says, with a note of derision in his tone.

Amy is left speechless.

"I might sound unkind, but I do have pity for you, my dear. Not all of us were born into high standing, and that isn't your fault. But at the end of the day, nobody forces us to make the choices that we do. And your choices seem to be leading you down a rather dark path." Freddie continues.

Dark is right. Amy thinks to herself, reflecting on her Queen of Spades contract.

Wait, was that a flicker of something in Freddie's eyes? Almost as if he knows more than he's letting on.

Before Amy can think about it too much, her butthole spasms once more, and she knows that she's seconds away from losing control. She can't do that here. Not in the middle of all these people. Not in front of Freddie.

"I'm sorry, excuse me for a minute. Drake, if you don't mind?" Amy says boldly, and strides across to a set of stairs that lead to an unoccupied table at the far end of the dining hall.

Drake follows quickly behind, and as soon as he's there, she quickly pulls her skirt out the way to reveal her barenaked bottom to his eyes, and his eyes only.

WIth her wine glass on the table in front of her, and far too many unsuspecting partygoers standing around the tables in front of her, she allows Drake to watch as his cum bubbles out of her butthole and trickles down her thigh.

In the middle of the hall, Freddie's eyes are still trained on her. He raises his brandy glass towards her, a warm gesture of farewell for now. He can't see what's happening with her butthole right now, but Amy can't help but feel like his gaze is peering into her soul.

Posh bastard. She thinks to herself, which to be honest is a much preferable train of thought than focusing on the humiliation of what she's allowing Drake to witness behind her.