I think the most unbelievable part of this story is that Mark didn’t even tell me what the ticket entailed. But, there is a lot that is unbelievable here. You might have a different opinion.
Mark is my best friend. He got me through my divorce. He’s filthy rich, and more than a little crazy. It was just what I needed then. He also knew most of my secrets, because I tend to talk too much when I drink.
Last week was my birthday. Mark gave me the ticket then.
“Enjoy!” he said.
It was a simple card, with an address on one side and a stylized drawing of a jaguar on the other. The cat, not the car.
“Enjoy what?” I said.
“The show,” he said. “Go there. Tonight. Go around nine. The show will be at ten.”
“Just me?” I said. “What about you?”
“I’ve been before,” he said. “I think it’s best experienced as a solo. And - rent a tuxedo.”
At times, Mark liked to be mysterious.
The address was in the Richie Rich part of town, a street with huge oak trees and mansions spaced well apart, with wrought-iron gates across their long driveways. I checked it three times as I sat there, and finally pressed the buzzer.
“Please show your cat,” a voice crackled back. Because I was holding the card in my hand, I understood it. I held it up to the cctv camera by the speaker. The gate slid noiselessly open. “Park in back,” the voice said. “Enjoy.” That’s what Mark said, I thought.
I was greeted at the door, and my drink order taken, by a smiling young waiter. I felt like James Fucking Bond but I resisted the urge and ordered a gin and tonic. He found me again in less than two minutes with my drink.
This house was amazing. Marble everywhere. Sweeping staircases and chandeliers. I wandered through the rooms. The layout reminded me of a Clue board. Yes, there was a conservatory. There were several people there - maybe twenty? Not a big group, for the size of the house; mostly men, some women. Everyone dressed to the nines. We nodded to each other but the mood seemed not to be to start conversations. One man was the exception to that; the host, I decided. He stopped me, in the main room next to the grand piano, and greeted me. I dropped Mark’s name, but he didn’t seem to care. Glad I was here.
I watched him for a minute after he moved on. He paused to talk to a young woman who was just entering from the terrace.
Oh my god. She was stunning. A semi-wild mane of dark blonde hair, with sun highlights. Blue eyes. A brilliant white dress of elegant simplicity that fit her amazing figure perfectly.
He left her. I had to talk to her.
She was pleasant, but her eyes were distant and she didn’t smile when she shook my hand.
“Rick,” she repeated after me. “So nice to meet you. I’m Alison.”
“Have you been here before?” was third on my list of attempted conversation starters. For the first time, her eyes truly focused on me.
“Your first time,” she said; a statement, not a question. “You don’t know who I am?”
She wasn’t famous, just gorgeous. Should I have known her?
“No,” I said.
She smiled then, a little bit. “I’m part of the show,” she said. “Excuse me.”
I watched her take the open curved staircase up and out of sight. Wow. And then my line of sight was interrupted by a second astounding beauty sweeping into the room. She wore some sort of satin micro-dress, and air of arrogant eroticism, and clearly no bra. Her breasts were about 80% on display in her neckline as she walked - no, strutted - to the staircase. She stopped for a few seconds to speak to the host, flashing him a wolfish smile. Also part of the show? I had to adjust my tux trousers a bit at the thought. Thank you, Mark.
A few more well-dressed older men and women filtered in. A pianist sat down at the grand and played for us. I found myself next to one of the women. She was a slightly more mature version of the other two, maybe thirty-five to their twenty-five. Despite my adjustment, her eyes still noticed my crotch as I gazed into her cleavage. It made her smile, which made me harder. Fucking vicious cycle.
I had just opened my mouth to ask her what the show was, when the pianist finished and the host clapped his hands.
“Welcome, everyone,” he boomed. “Welcome to tonight’s event! It is a special one. We have Alison and Petra.”
Applause. Event? I thought.
“If you are a regular here, you know their history,” he continued. My elbow companion snorted softly. There was a sudden murmur in the room as the brunette appeared at the top of the staircase. If I were a cartoon character, my jay would’ve hit my chest and my eyes would’ve bulged from their sockets. The satin mini-dress was gone. She started down the stairs, in nothing but her heels and a tiny metallic silver thong.
She paused at the bend in the staircase.
“Our ‘history’ is that I beat the fuck out of that bitch,” she said. “It’s taken this long for her tits to heal. Now, she wants a rematch, the stupid cxnt.”
I looked at the woman next to me, in disbelief. She didn’t seem surprised at all. She did seem aroused. Her nipples tented the fabric of her gown. Her lips were parted, just a little. Oh my fucking god.
"You're right about the rematch."
My head whipped around at the sound of Alison’s voice. She now stood at the top of the stairs. Like the brunette, she wore only her heels and white thong. She started down the stairs. With a brief backwards look of contempt, Petra descended the rest of the way and waited by the host. Alison arrived a few moments later. The two moved to face each other.
The host slipped a hand around the back of each woman’s neck, caressed them, then gripped their hair closed to the back of their heads, pushing them together. Their bare breasts just brushed. The crowd hummed, just loud enough to cover my gasp. My neighbor had closed her fingers around my cock.
“I’m Sara,” she purred. “You are?”
“Rick,” I managed.
“Stay with me, little boy,” she said.
“Alison,” said the host, his voice harsh now. “What are the rules?”
“No rules,” she said. Her voice was tight. “Just to fight, until one is finished.”
“Petra,” he said. “Which room?”
“The billiard room,” she said, her voice nearly a moan of pleasure. “This time, I want to fight her in the billiard room.”
I followed Sara, in a daze. The billiard room was huge. The table sat in the center, polished dark wood with a triangle of nine-ball in position on the green felt surface. Cues were in formation like soldiers in a matching rack. We lined the walls.
Petra entered first, her brown legs flashing. Her breasts were high and hard but her stride set them swaying to the sexiest rhythm. Alison followed, and only Petra could possibly overshadow her. The host was last. Unlike Clue, there was only one door to the room. He locked it, and slipped the key into his pocket.
Petra had come around the table to the end farthest from the door; Alison had stopped at the near end. In unison, they each mounted the table on all fours, facing off again, this time like cats. With a flick of her hand, Petra scattered the pool balls across the table, one clunked into a pocket. The way she moved, her back flat but slightly arched, her breasts swaying, her perfect ass perhaps six feet in front of me, all enough to drive me fully hard. Then there was the amazing blonde across the table. And Sara, who slipped in front of me and ground her ass into my cock as she leaned back against my chest.
“It was lovely last time,” she whispered. “Petra is right. She beat that little blonde slut within an inch of her life. It was submission rules that night. Alison submitted, all right. She begged,” She reached for my hands, placed them on her waist. With her shoulders thrown back, her breasts were as nearly on display as those of the two topless women. “God, it makes me cum hard when the loser begs,” she said.
“You’re not ready, Ali,” Petra said to her opponent. “You think you are, but you aren’t. And I’ve had two months to think of all the new ways I can hurt you.” Her hand closed on one of the balls, and she rapped it hard against the surface.
“Fuck you, Petra,” Alison said. “This time will be different.”
Petra laughed, and dropped the ball. On their knees, they clashed.