The New Year’s Eve fancy-dress party was already loud when Mark arrived. Single, thirty-two, and more than ready to drink away the last of the old year, he had thrown on a cheap tuxedo and a plastic devil-horns headband. By midnight the champagne had done its work. The room spun pleasantly. He was leaning against the kitchen island nursing another glass when she walked in.
Tall. Dark hair pinned up under a sparkling silver masquerade mask. A tight black dress that clung to long legs and a high, round ass. She moved like she owned the space. Their eyes met. She smiled, slow and knowing, and crossed the room.
“Lost, devil?” she asked, voice low and smooth.
They talked. Flirted. She laughed at his jokes and kept topping up his glass. By one-thirty Mark was properly drunk and hard as hell. When she took his hand and murmured, “Come upstairs with me,” he followed without a second thought.
The guest bathroom was large, tiled in dark marble, with a walk-in shower big enough for two. She locked the door, peeled off the mask, and let the dress drop. Full breasts, smooth skin, and between her legs a thick, heavy cock already half-hard. Mark’s eyes widened. She watched his face carefully.
“Still want this?” she asked, stepping in close, one hand sliding down to cup him through his trousers.
He swallowed, nodded. Drunk courage and pure lust won out. She kissed him hard, tongue pushing into his mouth while she freed his cock and stroked it. Then she turned the shower on, steam filling the room, and pulled him under the hot spray.
She pushed him face-first against the tiles, kicked his feet apart, and slicked two fingers with lube from a small bottle she’d brought. Mark gasped when the first finger pushed inside him. She worked him open slowly, then faster, until he was moaning and pushing back. When she replaced her fingers with the thick head of her cock, he groaned loud enough to echo off the walls.
She fucked him deep and steady, one hand braced on his hip, the other reaching around to stroke his leaking cock. Water cascaded over them. Every thrust punched a wet sound out of him. She whispered filthy things against his ear—how tight he was, how good he felt around her, how she was going to make him take every inch. Mark came first, spurting against the tiles while she kept pounding him through it.
She pulled out, turned him around, and kissed him again, messy and hungry. Then she spun, presented her ass, and looked back over her shoulder.
“Your turn. Fuck me.”
Mark didn’t need telling twice. He slicked himself with the leftover lube and pushed into her tight heat. She was hot and gripping, and she pushed back hard, taking him deep. He grabbed her hips and fucked her the way she’d fucked him—deep, relentless strokes that made her moan and curse. Water ran down the curve of her back. Her own cock hung heavy and swinging between her legs. Mark reached around and stroked it in time with his thrusts until she came with a sharp cry, painting the tiles while her ass clenched around him.
He lasted maybe another minute before he buried himself to the hilt and emptied into her.
They stayed under the spray a little longer, catching their breath, kissing slower now. When they finally dried off and got dressed, she fixed his crooked devil horns, smirked, and said, “Happy New Year.”
Mark walked back downstairs with a limp and a grin he couldn’t wipe off. The party was still going. He didn’t care. The year had already started exactly the way he wanted.