Angela crashes a male-only Cigar Party with her boyfriend Tyler… and the men don’t mind. Wearing a killer cocktail dress that leaves nothing to the imagination, she pretends to be a nervous, approval-seeking “Anxious Actress” and breaks down their polite reserve.
Tyler watches, astonished, as Angela masterfully demolishes their inhibitions. She’s never been so sexy, vivacious, and on her game. He’s never been more turned on than when he sees her through the eyes of fifteen admiring, lustful strangers.
Angela has Tyler to keep her safe, and a goal for the night: Can she “carry” the room? She knows what she wants to do, she has to figure out how to get it done. This is Book 3 of three standalone stories about Angela’s development into a femme fatale.
Told from Tyler’s view, “Angela Seduces the Cigar Party” is an erotica novelette with scenes of teasing, groping, oral sex, and explicit scenes of multiple wealthy men in immaculate business suits taking Angela to bed. It is not intended for readers under eighteen.
(This story was first published as ‘Lindsey Seduces the Cigar Party’ but was extensively rewritten in 2013.)
We turned the corner into the living room, coming upon fifteen men wearing various expressions of surprise.
I cleared my throat. “Hello, all. This is my girlfriend Angela.”
I hadn’t intended to call her my girlfriend, because that would put Angela theoretically off-limits. But seeing the fifteen imposing men in their suits, I felt a little protective of her.
“Hello,” said Angela smoothly. She produced her bottle of cognac again. “I brought a little gift. I know women aren’t supposed to be here, but I just couldn’t stay away! I hope you like me… I mean, I hope you don’t mind. I want to learn all about you…I mean all about cigars.”
An older gentleman, whose name I later learned was Sid, spoke first. “Of course we don’t mind. Please. How often do we get to talk the ear off of a beautiful young lady?”
“I’m sure very often,” Angela answered. She took a half step towards the attentive men, and then seemed to remember something. “Oh, Tyler, can you take my coat?”
I stepped up behind her.
She unbuttoned it with fingers that weren’t exactly steady, and told her first lie of the evening.
“You gentlemen must promise not to laugh at my cocktail dress. I didn’t know what to wear, so I asked some boys down the hall from my apartment. They had me try on every dress in my closet. I don’t think they know what women wear at cigar parties.” She slipped the coat off her shoulders. “It’s their fault if this is not the right dress.”
She was answered by sounds of general astonishment. My eyes trailed down her back as the coat came away. Her back was bare all the way to the nape of her buttocks. There, the dress curved in a deep U shape to expose the cleavage of her ass. Just above it was one of Angela’s tattoos, a primitive design.
The seat of her dress, a narrow band of shimmering fabric, hung loosely against her ass, and ended at the very top of her legs. The whole tiny dress was held up by two spaghetti straps that hung precipitously on her shoulders. They were long and insufficient-looking, reminding me of dental floss. They went up her chest, over her shoulder, and down her back to the lowest part of her ass. Spaghetti straps on a dress have only one job, to keep it from sliding off. Straps as long as hers could not possibly do their job very well.
Most incredibly, I could see the sides of Angela’s breasts—from behind. Her high breasts were large enough to overhang her narrow ribcage. From my perspective, I had Angela almost completely nude from the back, up to and including some magnificent side-boob. From the front, she probably looked like a heart attack.
I checked the men. They glanced at each other, sniffing and raising their eyebrows, quirking their mouths. Turning red.
“You’re laughing!” Angela accused, mock angry. “The guys up the hall told me nobody could hate this dress.”
Sid shook his head, “No, no! You’re very daring.”
Angela edged forward. “It’s not really so bad?”
“Of course not! What did you say your name was?”
“Chesty. Kidding! I’m Angela.”
I backed out of the room as they entreated her forward, goading her like a puppy. She already had them competing for her attention. She rewarded the braver ones with small steps in their direction. As she milked them for compliments, I tossed her coat into the hallway…