“Hey, great outfit!” your friend Maria told you with a grin, the toned amateur athlete leaning over to give you a friendly hug.

“Thanks.” You were glad Maria could make it. The tall, easygoing woman was always a comforting presence. “Come on in! Party’s just getting started.” 

In spite of her compliment, you thought your outfit was a bit…much. There was nothing wrong with looking sexy, of course, but the lacy little black dress, garter belt, stockings, and dagger heels your girlfriend had picked out for you were hardly up to the tasks required of a hostess. Any time you opened the door to let guests in or bent over to pick something up, you worried you were flashing half the room. Panties would have been nice—they certainly would have helped hide the jeweled handle of the buttplug inside you—but your girlfriend had calmly and very reasonably explained that underwear simply wouldn’t work with your overall look. At least…you were pretty sure she had. You couldn’t remember exactly what she’d said. 

To be fair, you always felt a little frazzled when you had to host one of your girlfriend’s parties. You desperately wanted to make sure they went perfectly, but it was never an easy task. Your girlfriend usually invited lots of people you barely knew and had a tendency to ask extra things of you at the last minute, leaving you flitting about nervously—

“Are you gonna let us in?” Maria asked. She was still standing patiently in the doorway. 

“Oh!” You moved aside so she and her friends could enter. They all were wearing street clothes, which made you feel even sillier in your slutty dress. Come to think of it, everyone else at the party wore normal clothes too. Odd. “Sorry.”

“No worries.” Maria’s smile was understanding. As she and her friends walked into the room, one of them shot a glance down at your evident cleavage. You blushed and looked away.

There was no time to waste on embarrassment, though! The distant sound of the oven beeping signaled the salmon mousse tartlets were done. 

You scurried through the bustling crowd of guests toward the kitchen, squealing as one of the guests—a woman your girlfriend knew with a leather jacket and shaved head named Elle—accidentally groped and squeezed your ass when you passed her. It had to be an accident, even though Elle really leaned into it; your girlfriend had told you this would be a formal affair, and you knew groping wasn’t appropriate for such an event. 

“Sorry! Excuse me,” you squeaked out as you moved past her. 

“Cute look,” she replied, leering at you. 

“Th-thanks.”

You sighed with relief as you made it to the kitchen and closed the door behind you. The sound and warmth of the crowd was beginning to build, and it was nice to get a moment of respite. Even better, you opened the oven door and were delighted to discover the tartlets came out perfectly! Your girlfriend would be so pleased. Normally you were simply dreadful when it came to puff pastry, but your girlfriend always demanded it for her parties nonetheless. She never minded when you botched the recipes—in fact, she seemed to find it amusing—but it was always terribly embarrassing. Not tonight, though! You slipped on an oven mitt and plated the appetizers, humming a little tune to yourself as you delicately put a parsley garnish atop your platter. Perfect!

“Hey, beautiful.” You spun around to find your girlfriend right behind you, a smirk on her face. “Everything going okay?”

“O-okay? Um…y-yeah! I think so!” came your stammered reply. For whatever reason, whenever your girlfriend held a party you found yourself helplessly flustered by her presence. It was probably just because of how incredible she looked—tonight her long, dark brown hair was in a French braid, one that trailed past her smoky eyeliner and wine red lipstick down to the collar of her black pantsuit. You could practically feel the power radiating off of her. No wonder she made you feel so meek.

“Great.” Your girlfriend broke out into a full smile when she saw the platter you’d composed, and your heart skipped a beat in joy. “Wow. You’re really becoming a wonderful little hostess, you know that?”

It felt like your blush had spread all across your body; your chest was flushed and you felt intense warmth from the top of your head all the way down to your clenching sex. “T-th-thanks! I was r-r-really careful this time.”

“In fact…” your girlfriend purred, taking a step toward you as she stroked her chin. You froze. “You might be getting a bit desensitized after all our little parties…”

Her words meant nothing to you. “D-desensitized? To w-what?”

“Nothing, dear. Don’t worry about it.” It was nothing. You stopped worrying about it. Your girlfriend reached out to grab your chin, then tilted your head side to side as though examining you. After a moment, she nodded to herself and pulled away. “Bit more couldn’t hurt. We don’t want you getting too competent, after all.”

“A little more wha—”

Snap.

Your girlfriend snapped her fingers and everything became heavier and slower, like someone took your thoughts and movements and slathered them in honey. You swayed back and forth subtly with a newfound lack of coordination. 

What were you doing again?

“How does that feel?” Your girlfriend was leaning forward to peer at you, excitement in her eyes. Her question confused you.

“How does what feel?”

Your girlfriend giggled, a lovely sound. “Perfect.” She turned to leave the kitchen. “See you soon, beautiful.” 

Everything felt so warm. Warm ‘cause…cause you cooked something. In the oven. You blinked slowly. That was right—your tartlets. They were finished and you had to get them out to the guests because this was your girlfriend’s party and you had to make sure everything was perfect. The realization brought on a new wave of anxiety as you recalled all your responsibilities for the night. Better get to it, then!

“S’cuse me,” you slurred as you returned to the party, platter in tow. People seemed very excited by the appetizers as you passed them by—their hands were all over the tartlets and also your tits and ass, pinching and groping in a way that left you alternating between sharp intakes of breath and noble attempts to hold in moans. You were the hostess, after all, and your girlfriend no doubt expected a high level of decorum from you.

Just after you finally placed the platter down on the coffee table, a couple nearby flagged you down.

“Excuse us!”

You rushed over to them, sucking down deep breaths to try and stave off the intense heat building in your body. They were more friends of your girlfriend: Claire and Will, neither of whom you knew particularly well. The former had a granola-y look with her messy bun, crop top, and jean shorts, while the spectacles and tweed jacket of the latter screamed academia. This was the first time they’d attended one of your girlfriend’s parties.

“Sorry to bother you, but Claire here spilled her wine. Would you mind helping us clean up?”

“Of course! Not a problem.” You flashed them a smile, then looked down at the red wine stain that thankfully had landed entirely on the hardwood floor. Your girlfriend’s rugs were safe—phew! A big stain would have ruined everything! “Let me get the mop.”

Claire piped up nervously. “Ah, no, that won’t be necessary. You can use…” She took a deep breath. Her voice came out as a sultry whisper, one you barely heard over the chatter around you and the music playing in the background. “…use your mouth.”

You blinked. Claire and Will both looked at you hungrily. Something didn’t seem quite right, but the warmth and weight of your mind and body made it impossible to figure out what. 

“Oh! Okay!” you replied, sinking down to the floor. Once you got there, you realized what must have been bothering you—while you were on your hands and knees with your mouth against the floor, your exposed ass would be presented to the rest of the room. You fidgeted with embarrassment and rotated around the stain so you’d be flashing the least amount of people possible, but you were close enough to the center of the room that any subtlety proved impossible. In fact, a majority of people nearby were looking expectantly at you now, including your grinning girlfriend. 

“Thanks for cleaning that up, babe,” she called across the room, her voice drawing even more attention to you. “You’re the best.” 

A whimper escaped your lips.

But…you did have to make sure this party went perfectly, and that meant being a good little hostess. And good little hostesses pleased their guests and maintained their composure, no matter what! Fortified by the thought, you sank down to the floor and began to lap up the red wine.

Your dress instantly rode up and over your hips, gravity doing you no favors. A slight draft felt cool against your soaking wet sex and well-lubed asshole clenching around the plug inside it. 

Everybody stopped talking to watch. The only sounds you heard were the soft jazz playing in the background, some occasional whispers or giggles, and those of your own eager mouth at work. Above you, Claire looked on with predatory delight while Will hung back with a smug smile on his face.

“Thank you,” she breathed, voice trembling with excitement. Her eyes went wide with delight when she saw a lock of your hair spill over your shoulder and into the stain. “Oh! Let me help you out.” 

Claire knelt down beside you and carefully pulled your hair up and away from your face with a tight fist. 

“Mm’fankyou,” you managed between licks.

“Of course.” Her other hand trailed down your spine, no doubt in an attempt to stabilize your precarious position. And then it reached your tailbone. And then it wrapped around the handle of your plug and started gently wiggling it up and down, barely moving it at all.

You moaned with surprise and pleasure, aghast. What a faux pas this was! Claire no doubt had intended to hold you steady only to accidentally put her hand right on the toy inside you! There was no telling her to stop, of course—it would make everything terribly awkward for the rest of the night. No, you’d just have to keep quiet for the sake of the party, eyes half lidded and hips bucking backwards as you slurped her spill off of the floor.

The closer you got to being done, the tighter Claire’s grip on your hair became, and the more your buttplug was pushed, pulled, and otherwise manipulated. You yelped and moaned with each (completely unintentional) thrust, your ass clenching and unclenching to milk all the pleasure you could. The crowd’s whispers grew steadily more brazen as well, though you could only make out a few scattered words and phrases:

“…so eager…”

“…incredibly well-conditioned…”

“…has no idea?” 

You squirmed and tried to hide your face from the onlookers, but whenever you did Claire would tug on your hair to make sure everyone had a good view. And then finally, just when the sense of fullness inside you became intense enough to build toward orgasm, you cleaned the last of the floor and unsteadily got back onto your feet. 

Claire joined you after a moment. “Thanks.”

“Of course!” A good little hostess was polite, even to guests who nearly made her cum in front of an entire party. Claire was clumsy with her hands, that was all. You didn’t hold a grudge. In fact, as she left you to tackle Will and started furiously kissing him, you almost felt a little disappointed. 

The night was still young, though, and you had plenty more to do. You unsuccessfully attempted to tamp down your mussed hair and ruffled dress, then put a big smile on your face and looked around. 

“Anybody need another drink?”

*****

Much to your dismay, things did not go smoothly from there. Your tartlets and assorted canapés went relatively untouched as the party progressed and grew rowdier and rowdier. Instead, guests seemed far more interested in seeking you out personally and asking you to help with some kind of problem. You found it very distressing—a truly good little hostess made sure problems never came up, while all you could do was manage the assorted requests as they came in:

“Excuse me, could you show me where the bathroom is?” asked Alexandra, a goth girl who bent you over the sink once you got there and spanked you raw with the door wide open (there was a mosquito on your ‘cute little butt’ that she kept missing, she explained).

“I think my chair is wobbling. Could you help?” said Daniel, a sharp if intense looking man who had you get on his lap where he pulled down your dress and played with your nipples until you were gasping for breath (to test if his chair was steady, he explained). 

“Down on your knees, slut,” requested Elle, who forced her fingers into your mouth and made you suck them once you knelt for her (your ‘pretty pink whore mouth’ looked ‘so lonely’ when it was empty, she explained).

And just when you’d think you were starting to get on top of things, your girlfriend would appear and snap her fingers again. Each time, your speech grew more slurred, your body hotter and more desperate for touch, and your mind slower and less coherent. You couldn’t understand it—you weren’t even drinking, yet somehow there you were, stumbling around and failing to stay on top of things while the three or four closest people pawed, groped, cupped, and pinched you. 

And during one particularly impressive stumble, you fell directly onto your couch and in Maria’s lap. You looked a mess, drooling slightly with errant strands of hair stuck to your forehead and cheek, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“Hey!” She grinned down at you. “Having a good time?”

“Mmnnyea,” you garbled. Even with your mind full of warm fuzzy cotton, you still knew good little hostesses didn’t burden their guests with how stressed they were.

Maria pulled you further onto her lap to keep you from sliding off, her tanned muscular arms wrapping around your torso. “Up, up, up! Don’t want to fall, do you?” She whispered in your ear.

“Mmmmnnoooo…” Your head lolled back onto her shoulder. 

You could feel the definition of the muscles in her core as she held you close, and it was so fucking hot that you couldn’t help but straddle her thigh and start rubbing your sex against it. Such behavior wasn’t appropriate for the hostess of a fancy party like this, but the heat building in you overpowered your better judgment. Hopefully Maria wouldn’t notice.

“You’ve had a busy night, huh? Got you worked up?” She’d noticed! You squirmed in her lap, mortified. This was still fixable; you just had to act casual. Maintain your composure. “Let me see if I can help.”

And then Maria’s hand reached down to stroke your sex, and you screamed out in ecstasy. You were already far beyond warmed up, and her fast pace and strong, steady hand had you gnashing your teeth and whipping your head from side to side within seconds. With your dress practically a belt by this point and with two of Maria’s friends reaching over to cup your tits, you didn’t look like a hostess—you looked like a filthy whore. 

“Open your eyes,” Maria cooed into your ear. She wasn’t even breathing hard. “Look around.” 

You did as she asked, and saw that everyone had gathered round to watch you get fucked. A tiny little squeak came out of your mouth as Maria picked you up and bent you over the coffee table, and a much larger one came out along with your buttplug as she pulled it free. 

“Pass me my strap, will you?” you heard her mumble behind you. Your eyes went wide. You turned your head to try and see what was going on only to come face to face with your girlfriend as she knelt down next to you.

“Such a good girl.” She licked her deep red lips, then kissed you on the cheek. “So sexy for me. You’re the star of the show, beautiful. Are you ready?”

Before you could respond, she held her hand up and

Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap.

And then you were gone, reduced to only a set of holes guided by carnal instincts as the warmth blotted out your thoughts. Someone was fucking your ass, you knew, and so you howled and thrust back hard into them. A cock slapped against your face, and so you opened your mouth and started to suck it. The noises of the orgy your party had descended into went in one ear and out the other. You felt full to the point of bursting as you took Maria’s strap to the hilt, a powerfully intense sensation that swept you up and carried you along for the ride as your close friend conquered your body. 

Someone was by your side holding your hand—no, your girlfriend was by your side and holding your hand. She was the one spot of focus in your otherwise blurry world, and you gazed up at her in adoration. Words came out of her mouth, and while you didn’t know what they meant, their praising tone still filled you with joy and delight. You squeezed her hand as you had your first orgasm of the night, and she squeezed back.

After your second orgasm of the night, Maria tagged out with Elle. The butch woman pinned you to the floor on your stomach and fucked you hard, frequently reaching down to cover your nose and mouth with her free hand until right before you passed out.

After your fourth orgasm of the night, Elle was finally satisfied and left you on the floor. You lay there, cum dripping out of your ass and drool dripping out of your lips like a used sex doll while partygoers continued fucking all around you.

When you finally regained something resembling consciousness, you were on the couch covered in a blanket with your head in your girlfriend’s lap while she chatted softly with Elle. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but the party seemed to have wound down—a few pairs of guests were still kissing, but most were either asleep or lounging about. 

“…always pouts when she realizes, yeah, but I mean she asks for it sooooo…”

“Whhh…nnng?” You stirred slowly.

“Hey!” Your girlfriend kissed the top of your head, then put a glass of water up to your lips. You drank gratefully from it. “How was your night, pretty girl?”

“Mm…ah, s’hard. Nosso good.” You squeezed your eyes shut, not quite ready for the admittedly dim light of the room.

“Not so good? Why not?” Her tone sounded genuinely concerned. “Did something happen?”

“M’a bad hostess.”

“Oh. Ooooh.” Your girlfriend sighed in relief, giggling to herself. You weren’t sure why. “You are? Why do you say that?”

You nodded miserably into her chest. “Errything w’sposed to be p’rfect, but issnot.” 

“Aww.” Your girlfriend stroked your hair, untangling a few of the knots it had gathered over the course of the evening. “You’re too hard on yourself, pretty girl. I, for one, think you did wonderfully tonight.” 

“Agreed,” chimed in Elle.

“I dunno…”

Your girlfriend leaned over to smile down at you. “I had some of your tartlets.” 

You perked up slightly. “Really?”

She emphasized each and every syllable. “Delicious. Your best yet.”

A smile broke out on your face.

“There’s my pretty girl.” Your girlfriend’s smile turned devious. “Oh, and by the way? Remember.”

Bit by bit, your previously locked memories returned to you: parties past that went very similarly to this one, pre-planning each carefully with your girlfriend, establishing a whole host of hypnotic triggers and safety measures, the thing your girlfriend always said as soon as you got your memories back…

“I never get tired of your expression when you remember, pretty girl.” She leaned down to kiss you a few more times on your forehead, cheeks, and lips for good measure. “Dumbstruck outrage looks adorable on you.”

You rolled over onto your stomach and buried your face in your girlfriend’s lap as you relived the night’s various embarrassments. “Oh my god. I’m never gonna be able to hang out with Maria again.”

“That’s what you said last time, pretty girl. But from what I recall, the two of you did a decent job of hanging out earlier tonight.”

You pouted. “Shut up.” 

Your girlfriend just laughed at that.