Private Viewing
The gallery was silent except for the clink of ice in crystal glasses. Claire smoothed her hands down her midnight-blue designer dress, the silk whispering against her thighs, and smiled at the six men scattered between the marble pedestals. They'd bought half the collection before the champagne even finished.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she said, then laughed. "Gentlemen, I mean. You know I love the exclusivity of these nights."
Marcus — sixty, silver-haired, always first to wire the funds — raised his glass. "And we love your… curation, Claire."
The way he said it lingered. She felt the weight of their attention settle on her, all the stretched silk and carefully chosen neckline. When she bent to point out the provenance of a bronze sculpture, she took her time.
"There's something I'll allow only tonight," she said, straightening.
"What's that?" Another patron, Ethan, younger than the rest, forty-two, loosened his tie.
Claire stepped closer, her heels clicking on the parquet. She reached past Ethan to adjust a frame that wasn't crooked. Her hip grazed his hand. "A private acquisition. You'll have to show me you're serious."
She led them deeper into the back room. The lighting was dimmer there, amber shadows pooling across the Persian rug. She heard the soft click of the door catching behind them.
"Stroke it for me, Marcus."
He blinked, then grinned wide, knotting the silk of his tie undone. "I knew it."
"It doesn't wait," she said.
By the time he'd freed himself, thick and ruddy in his hand, the other men were unfastening belts. Aaron's jingled. Bernard, bald and stocky, stepped close and cupped her breast through the dress, thumb brushing the nipple to a hard peak. She let her head fall back.
"One at a time," she said, but she sank to her knees, the silk of her dress whispering across the floor. "Or don't."
The first hot stripe hit her cheek, viscous and stringy. Marcus grunted. She laughed, catching his balls in her hand, pumping him for more. The next spurt lacquered her lips, and she parted her mouth, letting it pool on her tongue before swallowing.
"You're a masterpiece, Claire." Ethan's voice was tight. He moved in front of her, jerking hard, and she opened her mouth around his tip for two seconds — just a taste — before pulling away with a wet pop.
"You don't get the mouth version," she said, stroking him fast. "That's for after."
She turned her face up, eyes closed. Heat splattered across her forehead, dripped into her eyelashes. On her collarbone. The silk of her dress soaked in dark, spreading stains.
"Ohhh, Christ—" Aaron came in pulses across the neckline, pearly white on midnight blue.
She reached her hand back, guiding Bernard's cock between her legs. "On the dress," she whispered. "I want it ruined."
He stood over her, aimed at her chest, and painted the bodice in thick ropes of cum. She moaned, pressing the fabric into itself, feeling the warmth through the silk.
"You look like one of your sculptures," Bernard said, breathless. "Abstract. Seminal."
She laughed, a little wild now. Three more cases stood, cocks hard, pulling. She crawled on her knees to the last one, head tilted back, and let the final volleys coat her throat, her chin, the curve of her breasts.
When they were done, she stayed there, knees aching on the rug, her designer dress ruined and heavy with cum. The gallery smelled of salt and expensive cologne.
She looked up at them, wiping a slow streak from her brow with one finger and tasting it.
"The acquisition's yours," Claire said, rising unsteadily, dripping. "Now someone better call me a cab and a dry cleaner."
Marcus grinned, still catching his breath. "Or we could do round two in the office. I think the couch is leather."
Claire looked down at the sticky ruins of her dress, peeled a cocked eyebrow. "Give me ten minutes to pour more drinks. And you better be ready, because I want that mouth version."
CATEGORIES: [Bukkake, Cumshot, Group Sex, Exhibitionism, Slut]